I don’t think they understand; death walks by my side wanting me like a man wanting his bride one moment, whispering sweet nothings — making promises of release from all the pain. Death and pain go hand in hand, it’s like a marriage. An internal death, the one that comes to comfort you when the pain is too much to bear. The death that comes with solid marble walls — cold as ice, pad locks and chains shutting out the world leaving coldness in its wake. No, I don’t think they understand the constant battle that resides inside me as I’ve made failed attempts to crawl out of this grave. I try to regain myself, my being, my essence that has been dimmed by years of scars and expectations that I put aside my feelings and understand theirs.

It begins, I chip away at walls which encase me, only to find deeper layers and step back exhausted from the fight. But that’s what they call me, isn’t it? I’m a fighter, an inspiration to others; younger women that see what I’ve overcome and believe they can do anything, because I’ve shown them it’s OK to move forward, that life goes on. They know so little; their being inspired by me, inspires me to keep going. It forces me to look back at all I have lost and all I have gained and everything between. I hope that one young woman is truly inspired, but fear I’ve damaged her too, she doesn’t believe I fix anything, Band-Aids she says. You want pain? You want doubt? I think death slipped inside her to say these words to me, but then again…