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Friday, February 19, 2016

This Shall Not Pass

I'd like to say "this too shall pass".  But, no.  It probably won't just "pass".  

More likely, it will tear past, ripping chunks of soul away, scrape past, flaying hope from the bone, grate past, each metal chink in it's sides scraping shreds of self away.  It will grind continuously, unerringly, constantly until all of the pointy bits are ground away leaving only exhaustion.  As it makes it's way past, gruelingly slowly, it will not go quietly... instead it will wail and hiss, spit and scream, leaving no respite or peace.

You will think "I don't think I can do it", "I can't bear it".  Behind you are the silent ranks of women, 50 billion strong, who say otherwise.  You can.  They did.  Every one before you has and you will too.  

You will not survive because this too shall pass.  No... This shall not simply "pass".   You will survive because you have no choice.  There is no choice because living in abuse is not living and the only way out is a fight.  


You will wrap your hands around the throat of this fiend of realization.  It will wail that you are crazy, you are nothing, your complaints are minor, you are making it up, your needs are worthless, you are worthless, the things you want are extraordinary, it never happened, you are broken, there is something wrong with you.  As it screeches these things and spits in your face, you will squeeze, little by little, day after day.  You will fall into bed exhausted and you will wake up each day, brush your teeth, wrap your hands around it and squeeze some more, tighter and tighter, refusing to go back into that place. Refusing to relinquish your grasp.  

On the days in which you cannot fight, you will breathe and as long as you have breath, there is tomorrow and as long as there is tomorrow, there is fight, which you will fight, because life.  The silent billions who have been here before say it is so.  

One day, it will cease to flail and fall into a lifeless heap at your feet.  Without a satisfying crunch, or thunderous applause for the fight for your life.  There will be no victory speech, no explosion of fireworks for the salvation of self - simply the cessation of the breath of your torment.  So war weary, you will be, that you may not even realize it has died until you pull your hands away at the end of a long day and it flops down rather than slithering into your shadows.  

No...it shall not simply pass.  But when it has died, you will take its head and you will mount it on your wall.  The scars it left behind will be the badge of your conquest. The one in which you won back your freedom, your power and your self.  

They weren't given to you.  You fought for them tooth and nail.  You will become one of the silent, scarred billions who fought their own wars of freedom and self.  You will tell the ones waking up to the fight that you have stared this beast in the eye and though it shall not simply pass, they too will survive to see it done.

Photo : Tormented / Charmyto / CC 3.0

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