Hopeful Self Portrait

When I was a little girl, I never knew what broken was.
Broken was what happened to the glass I knocked off the table,
or the toy I snapped apart. Sometimes parts could be exchanged,
and the kite could fly again, but sometimes it was irreversible.
I didn't understand why the diamond dust that was once a mirror,
had to be thrown away. It wasn't until many years later,
that I figured out that pretty things bite, and sparkles can hurt.

When I was a little girl I thought I knew what perfect was.
perfect was getting the bigger half of the broken up cookie,
My daddy lifting me so I won the "Who's tallest?" competitions
and when my oldest brother let me beat him in a wrestling match,
so I could believe that I was strong.

I don't remember when I figured out that my brother was moving out,
I only remember that car ride, and holding onto him so he wouldn't go.
It wasn't until we were driving away that I finally understood.

Then my mom got a job, and I was left alone more than I liked.
There was no one to care if I came home crying, or I didn't.
My other brother was too old to have a baby sister tagging along,
but I was too young to be left alone. He hated me for it.
I wasn't a good liar yet, and when I said my brother had left me,
he screamed at me through his bedroom door (locked for the night)
how much he hated me. That was the first time I had hated myself too.

School became my refuge, and my friends became my family.
Together we imagined our own worlds where we would punish those who laughed,
and where we would all be safe from all the hate others gave to us.
I was sent home once for breaking my enemies nose. He didn't do anything to me,
but he was bullying my best friend. He's still afraid of my temper.

In fifth grade my best friend moved away and I was alone.
Suddenly I had no one to tell how my brother had hit me,
no one to laugh when I told how I had hit him back.
I learned to look comfortable leaning against the wall,
and I learned I wasn't welcome to make eye contact with anyone.

But my friend didn't leave me at all. Although we were parted by miles and people,
we took advantage of the technology of our world, which we usually abandoned in our tales.
We galloped as horses from terrifying enemies, we learned to fight with words and weapons,
and we learned to fly away by closing our eyes. Our imaginations set us free.

When we started high school, her mother decided our time was over.
It was time for us to grow up, and to get other friends. To get a social life.
To make friends with the classmates who shunned us and the boy who's nose I broke.
She put a limit on her phone, and everything changed.
We still tried to talk, but between school and reality, we never stood a chance.

The thoughts that had set me free now became my cage, and I hated the world that
tore me constantly from the things I loved so dearly. I was harsh in words and thoughts,
and every day I saw more in myself to despise. I drove myself to a level of perfection
that was impossible to maintain, and I hated others for not matching it.

I hated them for jokes made at the expense of others, for drinking, smoking, breaking rules.
But I didn't hate any of them as much as I hated myself. I drowned myself in books,
making friends with people of wisdom and courage. Only then did I learn hope,
and I learned to live in the present, although the future was still too hard a concept.
I discovered that other people were the same as I was, with hopes and feelings, and scars.
I had to realize how unfair I had been on everyone, and hated myself even more.

I learned to bury myself in activity as I had discovered cruelty within myself,
when I was busy I couldn't think, and when I couldn't think I couldn't lecture myself.
Picking apart my faults the way my classmates had once done.
Or perhaps I only thought they did. I don't remember anymore.

I surrounded myself with people I couldn't think ill of, and I could always emulate them,
and it was easier to chatter about simple things, than to try not to think alone.
Frequently I would just listen. Even their uproarious laughter was quiet,
compared to the endless barrage of hate I bellowed at myself. Silently.

I came to fear silence, and I sought to be outside. Even at night it is always loud if you listen.
I studied anytime I couldn't order my mind into silence. Because I never could disagree with facts.

It was a fact that there are five animal kingdoms, than plants have cell wall and animals don't.
It is a fact that I stole, lied, fought, was distracted and supposed to be studying.
I moved on to a different subject. Perhaps Algebra could hold my attention.

I started to let it go, a little at a time. I had first released my hate of others,
then I began to release my hate of myself. I couldn't change the past, but I could change the present.
I began to go out of my way to improve things for others, a penance I will never be free of.
A punishment I can usually find some joy in. Making someone laugh can save a life, speaking from experience.

I learned to laugh and smile convincingly. It helps in conversations.
I smile harder when I'm sad, and sometimes I look in the mirror and I'm startled but how happy I look.
Sometimes I even wonder if I might be a little happier pretending I am. Or less?

I keep telling myself that the long night is over, and some mornings I believe it.
Some mornings I can almost forgive my classmates for their words. Most nights I can't.
But I keep watching the sunrise, and keep telling myself that the light will reach me.
Because I know if I tell myself something, and pretend it's true long enough,
eventually it is.

I've still never figured out whether I'm the kite that's going to fly again,
or if I'm the kind of broken that ought to be dusted up and tossed away.
I'm done longing for the past and hating that it changed. I'm living in the moment,
listening to the music so I can't hear the voices in my head
I surround myself with people I believe in and try to be my best.

I won't pretend I'm never pretending to be happy, but I won't lie and say I never am.
Maybe I'm just such a good actress I'm learning to fool myself. Tomorrow will be morning.
I can't deny that night will come again, but I can look to the sunrise,
and try not to think about it much.