Elena Vanishing

Where does thin become fat? Where does success become failure? Where does a great future become a horrible past full of heartache and regret?

Stress used to gnaw and saw away inside me like a tiny black hole. I learned that in spite of the stress, I could do everything I needed to do: study, make top grades, shop for the right clothes, and put on that perfect smile. Some days, I felt like Wonder Woman. The only thing I couldn't do was eat.

I know she loves me. As crazy as it sounds, I do know that. As unlikely as it seems that anyone could still love what I've become, I don't doubt that love for a second.

Life is love. Life, in all its suffering, is love. And death is powerless to change that.

It's the girl lost in the forest. A forest that isn't even there.

Somewhere in my distant memories, I used to be so busy that I longed for a pause button for my life. To freeze the whole world for an hour, or an afternoon: that was my favourite daydream. To stroll across green grass, admire the butterflies stopped in midair, stroke the soft feathers of birds at the feeder. To maybe lie down and take a nap in the sunshine and know that absolutely nothing needed to get done. No deadlines ticking closer. No obligations crowding in. But deadlines don't worry me anymore. Neither do aches and pains. Minor problems like that can't begin to touch the agony I'm in. I lie as still as I can to keep the thoughts and memories from finding me, but sick misery clings to me anyway, as close as a second skin.

Life is a combat zone. People who say it isn't have already lost the war.

I'm playing along. With what strength I have left, I try to reassure them that the rest I'm getting is healing me. But what I really am is finished, and there's no cure for that. I've collapsed like a pile of bones. Where does think become fat? Where does success become failure? Where does a great future become a horrible past full of heartache and regret?

So I lie still and take deep, quiet breaths. Pain doesn't bother me. I'm not afraid. I'm used to living with pain.

That's my conscience. We all have one. Mine never lets me settle for second best. There's no place in life for losers.

Anger is honest. Hatred is a backhanded compliment. Envy is the best gift of all. But let them turn you into a victim, and you're labelled for life. Pity is the sea you drown in.

My heart hurts -- my damaged heart. My heart is thin, even if I'm not.

Because sometimes, you have to be where they can't see you. Sometimes you have to get away.

A skull. A shell of death between me and my life. For years, that skull has stifled my better intentions. The bad people I know--the abusive guys and self-destructive friends--have been right there with me on the inside. But the good ones, the ones who cared for me--the ones I would have had to learn to care for in return--they haven't had a chance to break through. A skull. A shell of death. When does life become death?