Nothing left to burn

You, have made me bleed. Not my body, but my soul has bled. My body has only shed tears. Tears of private grief, uncontrollable howls and sobs wrenching my heart have pushed me into depression. I have lived in a state of darkness; I have feared the unknown future. I have not been able to stand up and accept that it was really happening to me. Hope, desperate hope had filled my heart at the time. I hadn't protested against all the wrongs that you did to me --- covering my weakness for you, perhaps. I believed in you, truly and sincerely. I had submitted to the slightest whims and the most outrageous and humiliating demands, somehow trying to prove my faith and loyalty for you. Alas, you only judged me: when I opened my deepest secrets and fears to you, all I got back in return was a judgement: that I wasn't good enough, wasn't man enough. I almost got it ingrained into my psyche that I was a coward, a fool and a squib. You had shook my conviction in the power of goodness.

But then, time healed my wounds. Only after I brushed and shook off the burden of your judgement was I able to see and judge for myself. I have been able to judge in my own light what life has been around me: what I did wrong, and when I was right. The separation was painful, but it was simultaneously a leap of freedom as well. I didn't know if I had lost something or gained my light once more. How, I wonder now, had my carefree spirit wandered into those shackles, and how had I not seen through the guise? Why was I begging to state what I felt to be true, knew to be true? Why did I think that the chains that kept me from flying were actually golden beads on a necklace? What the fuck was I thinking?

It is over now. A year past of tumultuous times, when I had had some of the happiest moments of my life, to one of the saddest ever: I almost killed myself one day --- remember? But now I'm free. And although you killed a part of me, you have also given strength to a new part of my identity. I have known now when to stand up and fight for what I hold true, even against my near and dear. You have been my Krishna, unleashing me from my own fears; and you have also been my Kansa, killing seven innocent alter egos before you came for me. The hurt that has been will remain inside, locked in the iron chest of my own soul. Outside, my spirit shall soar --- the free bird minus a few dead feathers. What happens to you doesn't affect me any more as it used to: for I have learned how to not care about people. At this dark hour of the Friday night, I resolve not to even acknowledge the wounds: for confessing about them would mean giving them weight and importance. I will not acknowledge, never... and I mean NEVER tell anyone or even myself that I have had a dagger into my chest. That knife is as much a part of me now as my heart itself. I am beyond you now --- there's no wood left to burn.