Way past the point of caring. I lifted my head and pondered for a moment. Why would I care if people hated me, after I'd just undergone the most difficult tribulations of my life? I have been on my knees, wanting death because of other people's unfair judgments. I had given of my body freely, never realizing there was priceless value in virtue, in keeping myself special for the one person I intended to share my life with. I had no shame as I cut my own veins and passed out, strangers carrying my naked, near-bloodless body to a hospital. I have had my sanity clinically questioned as I screamed to the heavens and coddled my broken body, feeling sorry for myself, not knowing if I even desired the gift of my very own life, a life I had no right to take away.
Yet I had found a way to raise my head up high, although for the longest time I truly didn't believe I deserved to do so. Ready to collapse in my soul, I had barely managed to stand back up, but I had done just that, slowly but surely.
My body had been bruised and beaten almost on a daily basis. My delicate, fair skin had been permanently burnt. I took pills and drank liquids that endangered my life, these illegal substances giving off cheap, shallow, chemical imitations of some of life's greatest and most natural joys.
They were absolutely nothing compared to pure, universal love and fulfillment, or happiness borne of serenity and self-awareness. Even before I found stability in my own strength, I could have tried to find true happiness by making the decision to forgo drugs and find inspiration in the changing world around me. Maybe then would I have eventually realized that I was, in fact, deserving of all these things and more. My body has had time to heal from all this and indeed felt stronger than it had ever been; my resolve, even stronger.
My spirit had been almost diminished to a mere tea light. Not too long ago, I'd believed in nothing beyond this life, and I honestly hadn't cared. I had believed that if I'd deserved anything, it was a lifetime of misery and punishment. I once believed that if there was a God and if He had watched over me, it was only to watch with scorn as I lived sinfully day after day. After living so closely with surreal individuals and knowing that someone had cared enough to send me a Living Guardian Angel, I knew there was goodness out there, a powerful, wise force of good. I didn't know the details of any of that yet, but I was satisfied with this for now, because at the very least I knew that I was loved, that there was more to this Earth than what I could see and touch, and that there was endless potential for me to live whatever kind of life I wanted. After a lot of hard work, my spirit now shone brilliantly, thanks to independence, bluntly-cut heart strings, and faith that there was a significant purpose in being involved in the God Generation.
My heart, fragile and ready long ago to commit itself to an undeserving abuser, began to understand the seriousness of commitment and the results of the choices I make—positive, negative, and everything in between. After trying in vain to repair that doomed relationship in every conceivable manner, I'd made the smartest choice of my life. I had finally learned that it was better to be alone than to be in a relationship that degraded my soul. I was willing to be alone and that, I think, is what made the universe bring Ree to me, my fading LGA who yet guards me in life, who loves me in a way that I myself may never fully understand.
And through Ree, I had discovered an incredibly rare sort of love, one borne of soul connections, spiritual protectiveness, unreal sexual attraction and compatibility, and pristine, genuine affection. I was not going to base my self-worth upon this relationship, however. I knew now who and what I was. I wasn't afraid of judgment anymore.
Laughing and weeping simultaneously like an insane woman, vomiting complete, I slipped out of the bathroom and back into our bedroom, the twins too distracted with their culinary mastery to notice me much.
I made it to our mattress and collapsed, laughing delightedly at the life I was about to live.
What Adim did to you is nothing compared to what I will do.
Not if I get that son of a bitch first.
# # #
About the Author
Chrissy Moon was born in Orange County, California, and has been writing poetry since age seven. She's passionate about ancient Egypt, American history, and learning languages. Chrissy lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband and sons, soon to be living near Seattle, Washington. She spends her days drinking iced caffè Americanos, going to bookstores, and buying way too many DVDs. Surreal Ecstasy is her first novel.
More information about Chrissy and her writing can be found on www.chrissymoon.com.
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