From yesterday it calls him, but he doesn't want to read the message here.

So this is an old piece I wrote for English.
Here's to progression.


There is no such thing as strength, at least not in my world. I don’t mean the biceps rippling and thighs as big as trees strength, I mean the saying goodbye strength, the letting go and the facing the oncoming emotion torrent of inexplicable grief. I have grieved for years and yet the practice does not make me stronger, it weakens me to the core and now there is nothing but hopelessness.

I haven’t had a say in my life for as long as I can remember, everything happens, without any input or opinion. I gave up the fight when we battled for my sanity, and that was the beginning of the Dark Days.
I’m so consumed with this angst, this need to escape, I know people are talking to me, they stroke my arm or push my hair back but I don’t want them near me, it’s a constant reminder that I’m not one of them anymore, I can’t be like them, I have my own demons who make it impossible.
Despite all the medication I cant sleep, or maybe its because of the medication, I honestly can’t keep track, and it’s no longer significant.
They play me music, something I always use to respond to, hoping that one day, I will awaken from a slumber, emerge from the woods and bring an end to the Dark Days, but not sound, not smell, not memory can reach me now, I’m within the contorted barks, the drenched soil, I cannot be moved.
I can’t remember the last time I made contact with anyone outside the realm of the Dark Days, I can’t remember anything but the Dark Days, except one thing, a boy. Nathan.
I don’t like that name, but the Dark Days love it, their tentacles unfurl, they awaken and they grab hold of me, pincers like vices which pierce and pull. I don’t like to think of that name, but I dislike the nothingness, the hole of wretchedness more. It will take a while, but I will remember, I remember moments, glimpses of what was, but it makes no sense, it’s like hearing every third word of a sentence, there’s a lot of guess work.
I remember desks. It’s a strange thing to remember, but that’s it, desks and charcoal. I remember hiding, hoping never to be found, but I was, he found me and said, “Are you afraid of me?” But then its gone, and the pain is too much, its like my head is convulsing, there’s fire, its endless, and then there’s nothing.

I wonder how much was ever really in my hands, how much was up to me to change. I think I could have changed it, he couldn’t have always known how I would react, but he knew how the Dark Days would, he used them to control me. When I was weakest, he was there, he never touched me, but I was defiled, he never shot me, but there was a gaping hole, he never liked me, but he was forever watching me.
I was walking up the stairs, it was dark, but I could tell he was following me, leering at me, breathing as if I was the oxygen. I knew I wasn’t safe, I knew the albatross was around my own neck as soon as I entered his world. It was constant and endless, he would never leave me alone, no matter what got in his way, he seemed to think I belonged to him, and I guess I did seeing as the Dark Days allowed for no struggle.

I think it’s all out of order, my memory wont regenerate in chronological order, it’s like your computer using binary, its hard to read unless you know the exact ways in which to calculate it. I think everything is jumbled until nothing makes sense, but since I started retelling everything, more images, words, sounds, smells keep returning, as if they were happening again, the Dark Days make everything so vivid.
He would mouth words to me, jerk his head, engrave the desk with a metal disk, but he would never ever take his eyes off of me, and I think that was the most excruciating, the most incapacitating thing that has even come close to the Dark Days.
I use to be afraid that he might be around me now, but I can unequivocally tell you that I would sense it, though there would be nothing I could do, I would know without an inkling of a doubt that he was there, some people you cannot forget, they are forged, bended and crushed into your mind, like your own name.
It’s only after all this time that I can begin to contemplate whether he was ever remorseful for what he inflicted on me, whether he had changed and he felt the guilt and shame, the brokenness that he made sure I experienced.
In the Dark Days, he would use whatever he could to bring me back, but mostly it was fire, it was burnings, there is no phoenix that arises from this story, to say it lasted for an eternity would not explain it, he read to me Remembering Ophelia once, he said it was us, but I didn’t love him enough to come back for him, so he would never let me go in the first place. He thought it was romantic.

He and the Dark Days worked in tandem, until I was unrecognisable. I’m not human, I’m not dead and I’m not asleep. After what seemed like never ending taunting and baiting, he coaxed out my spirit, and lit a match.
There is no such thing as strength, at least not in my world.