Tag Archives: writing

The truth is

“I’m petrified, okay? I’m scared to death of tomorrow. I don’t welcome the sunrise; if I could hide in the cool evening, make it stretch into forever so that I wouldn’t have to face the unknown, I think I’d do it. I tell myself that I think I would. Do you know how many awful things can befall a person in a day? In less time than it takes to inhale? We may not be indiscriminate, but life is. It doesn’t give a damn who you love, or how beautiful you are, how kind, who needs you, who wants you dead. It can drive you mad just to consider the depths to which you can fall, the heights from which you can be dropped.

I know this makes me a coward. I know it sounds like I’m spitting in the very face of God, of the gift of life. I know that. I feel ashamed of it, this crushing fear, this admission that I don’t believe in my own existence, or trust in my own strength, or purpose, and that I’m constantly confused. Totally baffled, all the time. But I think — I hope — that maybe it means something that I feel like this and I just know I can’t face this world, I can’t, and I get up, every day, go out, and exist anyway.”

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“The thing is, I don’t understand you. In fact, I’ve never understood you. You make decisions based solely on how the consequences will affect you, only you. You love me one minute, then hate me the next. You tell me that you can’t stand qualities about me that you exhibit yourself on the regular. You blame me for problems you’ve created in your life, problems that it’s not even feasible I could be responsible for. You lied to people about me, in a most unacceptable fashion, thinking yourself safe and justified in your cruelty. I know you don’t see it that way and I suspect you can’t, not even with a magic mirror. Not even with me telling you, right now. And, right now, you’re probably thinking that I’m the crazy one, the delusional one, the weak and unhappy mess that can’t overcome anything without someone else to blame. But darling, that’s you all over. You in a processed nutshell. I cared about us, I really did, but you’ve pushed me out with such violent silence and emotional wreckage that I can’t even muster enough emotion over you to be angry anymore. I just don’t really care. A little, sure. How could I not, when I’ve loved you so long? But not enough to try to bring you back to me. If you want to go, please go. If you want to stay, you know where to find me. Just know that I know more about what you really think of me than you’d ever suspect. You should’ve kept quiet. Humans, in general, are not trustworthy. It’s a unfortunate truth, but in this particular case, it allowed me to open the drapes and see the sky again. I’m not by any means the only person who knows what you are, and somewhere inside that broken heart of yours I suspect you know, too. You’re not dumb, just blind. Unwilling and really, irresponsible. A lot of us choose to be blind. I chose to be blind, with you, and so did so very many people. But from that blindness came confusion, pain, sadness, rage. I’ve cried over you for what seems like years. And now that I’ve realized that I don’t understand you, I’ve also realized that I don’t really want to. You’re a wreck, darling. And you’ll stay that way probably forever. Waiting for you to change is like waiting for angels to rescue me from this half-life I’ve created to make you happy. To hide from you, and your inexplicable outrage at anything and everything that displeases you. I’ve got nothing left for you, darling. You already took away everything I had to give, and when that wasn’t enough, you discarded me like a piece of unworthy trash until you needed me for some paltry errand again. When you fall from grace–and you will fall–I don’t want to be around to watch. And I certainly won’t be there to clean up after you. Not this time.”

-Natasha’s monologue from “Humans,” a short play by Maria Berkovsky. Translator unknown.

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Another reminder.

“You can’t demand recognition. You can’t demand validation, or proof of emotion, or that promises stay forever promised and unchanged. If it were so simple to know, absolutely, that you were loved and appreciated, needed and revered, there would no longer be a motive for passion or discovery. If every promise we’ve ever made to our reflections or to each other stayed unbroken, we would ourselves remain stagnant and quiet, soft and weak from the protection of self-inflicted ignorance. A person with nothing to learn and nothing to question becomes quickly bored and quickly useless; a husk of themselves, that once was filled with drive and desire. I want nothing of boredom and nothing of silence. Should I forever be restless and wondering, imagining, dreaming, questioning, curious and confused, I will consider myself luckier than any person who wholeheartedly, stupidly believes that they’ve answered all of the questions they will never have the courage to ask.”

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The End.

“I will not cast you as the villain, then, but rather, that fallen hero from children’s fairy tales. The warrior who succumbs to madness in the face of an endless quest; the prince who fails the princess when doubt consumes him; the child who seeks to avoid their fate and at last, finds themselves its pawn. Once upon a time I trembled in the shadow of your assumed and gossip’d glory. But now, to see you as you really are–unmasked, base and human, and no more divine than an idol set upon the altar– this is my release from tyranny. From the chains I felt bound about my wrists and that were no more than a dry and dusty fear, a ghostly manifestation of my own making.

I know the truth; it has set me free.”


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