Honestly, it was like that when I got here

Pieces of my shattered soul hide me like each individual leaves collectively give shade and shelter. In the winter branches lie bare and exposed, cold and overlooked. In the winter inside me, I lie dormant and somnolent, pierced by icicles which never melt.

Can we just skip a day? Can we just time travel through those days when we are filled with anticipation and dread, unease and disturbance? We put ourselves on autopilot, allowing raw emotion and pure instinct to control our bodies while we retreat within ourselves.

I just show you the picture on the box – you have to reach inside and put the pieces together to see it. You won’t ever match it perfectly. My picture hasn’t ever been shattered like my insides. What’s missing?

Ensconced within our mental fortresses, we feel safe from harm, even as we know we’re being harmed by the hailstones and dust storms of everyday life, taking us apart one mote, one frigid molecule at a time. Just one day of enlightened bliss, unencumbered by the memories that often accumulate and drive us to madness analyzing them.

I discover it isn’t enough to stop the bleeding. I have to stop the icy wind that cuts me, the avalanche of imprisonment that crushes me, the shackles tearing at my ankles. I have been sleeping here for so long on the cold ground. I’m so hungry.

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