And I was reborn
It is hard to pinpoint the exact moment I began wanting to live. It is recent, though I am not. I have been wandering aimlessly and painfully for no particular reason. My existence, though materially comfortable, has been a mystery I never quite managed to untangle. Something odd and perpetually half-rotten.
I marvel at these pieces of myself that I remember only like some moldy film, these versions of me that endured so much but also made me endure so much more. That me died an unremarkable death. That's good, I don't want to see her again. Apo, apo! Her ghostly cries do not reach me. When she sits next to me in bed at 3AM I just turn my back to her and throw a pillow over my head, by the time I am awoken by Phoebus' warm light, she is gone. Vanished to the gloominess she was once born from.
Today, in this abandoned corner I have been neglecting, I share the moment I was reborn by the beautiful grace of Death herself. Today I immortalize my profound gratitude to the Holy Death who, despite me not carving a space in my life for Her constant worship, has so graciously bestowed upon me the greatest gift I ever received.
This piece has been extracted faithfully from my journal.
August 2, 2023
Life, for me, has always been surrounded by a heavy mist. Blurry and cold. A constant dreading for the future, a de-satisfaction with the present, and a hate for the past. I have withered way too young.
Pieces of me are now rotten. Never to return, never to see the light of day again. I have wasted more than half my life aching for death. For I did not know the difference between contemplation and obsession. I was stuck in a box that was never there, imprisoned. I had purposefully destroyed myself and, long ago, I gave up the idea of picking up the pieces.
What's left is ugly. Ironically enough, now I regret not loving me sooner. But its too late and I'm afraid I cant love what's left, for it is so unsightly I don't dare to look in the mirror anymore.
I have awaited death's embrace for over a decade and now I'm in Her arms, but not in the way I dreamt about as a child, kneeling and pleading to return to dust already. Now, I hug Her before waking up and living one day at a time.
I write this for you Santísima, a small piece of my love. For I've been aching to love myself the same way I fell in love with you after seeing your picture as a young child. You made your claim then, or at least I hope you did, for I never knew such peace before thinking about you.
Mi niña blanca, wait for me as I walk through this valley in search of your grace, in search of the answers I have been praying for. Please welcome me, the stray child that got lost. For you, I promise to not give up on me just yet, to love even the reflection I can't stand looking at.