But then the glass slipped from my fingers, those beautiful petals fluttering like moth wings as they fell away from me towards the hard ground. My hands moved to somehow save those delicate flowers: at the expense, of course, of the glass in which they had been contained. It hit the wooden floor with an ear-splitting crash; sending shards of glittering crystal skittering to all four corners of the room. Realisation of what I had done hit me like a fist between the eyes. Sitting down amongst those pieces, my fingers still clutching the few flowers which I had managed to save, I had cried bitterly, unable to fully comprehend the devastation I had wrecked upon the helplessly vulnerable object that I had barely seconds ago just held.
So that was the day when I finally realised that things could and would be broken. Broken, so, so easily: All it takesis that one fatal little slip.
And from that day on I was consistently vigilant and careful. My touch was gentle and my hands were meek. I knew that things could be broken. And I was prepared to take all measures to not let anything else in my life be damaged by my actions.
But little did I know that something would do the breaking for me.
It's ten years now roughly since that day. That day in September 2006, when I went into secondary school. Ten years since I became aware of that Voice which I now know as my little Ed.
It began to take things. It did not give them back. The more and more I would give in to him, allow him to take from me, the more greedy he would become. There was no such thing as enough, for him: he would always ask for more. And more did I give, desperate to please him, willing to hand over anything to make him cease his relentless onslaught.
And now so much of what is taken, is broken, seemingly beyond repair. My osteoporotic bones, weakened and brittle, never again to be strong. My confidence. My ability to concentrate and ability to remember things. All of those things, and more, have been taken. But there are other things which I valued yet more, which have been taken, too. Friendships and relationships; trust and love and joy. All gone, broken. Broken by ed. And yet why do i still give in to him? Why do I still let him control me; the thing that has destroyed so much of my life?
There are some days when I just feel so broken. Both my mind and my body feel as fragile as that delicate crystal glass that I destroyed all those years ago. But this, in a way, is worse; as it feels as if this time, it was not all because of me. I was not strong enough; I had allowed myself to slip up, to be broken and snapped like a brittle, thin twig. if only perhaps I had been stronger, then maybe my broken pieces would still be intact; maybe I would still be whole. But no, I was weak. Ed was stronger than I was. At times I want to weep out of bitterness, just like that little girl that I once was: to cry bitterly for the loss of the things that were so precious; those things that I know cannot be replaced.
This is not the life that I want to live; a broken, shattered way of existence. Because even though I am weight restored, I am not by any means recovered. Ed still controls me, Ed still wants to take from me until there is nothing left to take. It wants to break all that I have and that I love. It has already broken so much of what I had. Relationships and bonds that I thought could not be snapped apart; but Ed's touch is sharper than a knife's; just as deadly. I do not know how to fix what is broken. I can only try, and hope, and pray that I can mend them.
And I suppose the only way that I can hope to do this is choose with my heart to recover. To recover full circle; to climb the mountain to the very top. Otherwise I know that everything will be broken. Including, myself: in body, soul, and heart.