Perched on the bouncy mattress, poisonous thoughts circulated in my bloodstream. I heard a roar from my bedroom window. It was getting closer and moving towards me. Suddenly, I saw a red and blue reflection on the window glass and heard an ambulance siren. I broke into a cold sweat and watched my eyes swell with tears in the bedroom mirror in front of me.
My boyfriend and I were having a casual conversation, but then a switch turned on. A trigger caused me to explode. After we both cooled off, we engaged in rationalising and comprehending the situation. A situation that I didn’t control. My words just escaped from my head to my tongue. They were sharp as razor blades and did what they were meant to do: cut deep.
After our conversation, I discovered how broken I was. There I was, in my mental home, my space, smiling, thinking I conquered it all.
The broken pieces were forgotten. Years of toxic relationships ran unacknowledged. So, I went back to my mental loving space last night. Here I was back home ready to reflect on what happened and assess the damage. I expected to see new vases broken, and shattered windows. Yet, there was no sign of recent breakage. I sauntered towards my favourite rug in the house. It was a red Persian rug. I lifted it, and to my dismay, I found them.
Hundreds of tiny shards of glass were just lying there. I must have swept them under the rug. That was what I always did. Then I’d run swiftly run to the bathroom, wipe away my tears, readjust my make-up, wear a pretty red dress, and just stand there with a smirk on my face telling myself that no one could ever hurt me. I always moved on, loved harder and fell harder. I felt invincible.
Little did I know that those tiny shards of glass would creep from under the rug. Every time I walked barefoot I got tiny cuts on the soles of my feet. Being vulnerable always got me hurt, but I never knew why; the shards were too small to be seen.
“My personal life always flowed in sweeping meanders. All I ever do is accumulate broken shards”, I thought to myself. I decided that was enough and embraced a different kind of love. A selfless and strong love. Something so banal yet alien in my world.
When I exploded during our conversation yesterday the house fell to pieces. The tiny glass shards were exposed and flew across the entire room.
I saw the fractured glass, and to my dismay, they were numerous and were staring at me with contempt. I left them behind and resumed the heartfelt conversation with my boyfriend. We discussed my irrational explosion, and how it exposed all my insecurities and fears in this world.
As time ticked away, I realised that I never felt so broken. However, I never felt this loved either. So, I opened myself up more and more and exposed all my vulnerabilities. I spoke about my fears, hopes, dreams and aspirations.
We both hung up. I took off my dress, tore down my walls with a sledgehammer, wiped the make-up off my face and sat on the couch. No smirk, no smile, no nothing. Instead, tears trickled down my warm cheeks. I felt the saline water instantly evaporating from my cheeks and saw the mesmerising vapour rise to the ceiling. I felt liberated.
For the first time, I was seen. I was discovered, and I was loved. I couldn’t see his face since we lived apart in isolation, but I could feel the warmth of the glimmer in his eyes as he took every inch of me in. I stood there, allowing myself to be seen, unapologetically, and heard the words ‘I love you, we’ll get through this.’ I smiled and finally, felt accepted for the first time.
The first item on my to-do list for tomorrow says “Vacuum clean house”. The next item on the list says, “wait till this is all over, and run into his arms, and linger there, for a while.”