It is such a cliche that I have to endure these cuts for 4 days in a week.
Yes, it is possible to endure these stinging cuts made by the water of my imperfections and responsibilities. That every freaking time I went home at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning, rushing out of that door to heal and find myself in a dark street full of unwell people, enduring the stinging bruises for at least 15 minutes as my tired feet haggled me with pleasure when I get home, and to treat these bruises with water, soap and some sleep.
But the stinging pain never stop. It never stopped. The physical sting, I can endure those but these mental and emotional stinging that I feel never stopped for the past 6 years and I don’t really know where it’s taking me. It is all a relapse, an ambitious, diabolical relapse that even I, wonder at times if this is how my life is gonna turn out anyway.
Bruises sting, I am aware of that. And I endured it, but I am grateful as well for these reminds me of how I built myself from scratch, where I was shoved in the corner with no one to talk to and gave myself the reality of it all.
I love these bruises for it reminds me of my sanity, and mostly, of myself.