Written by V.M. Rachel
(This story contains themes or mentions of mental health issues and death.)
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. I wrap my arms around my torso, feeling my bare midriff. I don’t care for frostbite or hypothermia. Such things no longer matter to me. I find an overwhelming comfort in the path that I’m treading on. Alone. Painfully alone.
I look into the distance and spot them. The shadows. The shadows that continue to haunt me when I wish to heal. They kiss, they hug, they grow old together. They mock me. And after that mocking, they stroll off toward the horizon hand in hand. Nobody has love like that. It’s not true.
A snowflake lands on my bottom lip, causing the cracked skin to sting. This is the first moisture my skin has seen in a long time. The first act of care.
CRACK CRACK
My knees struggle to bend. This path pains me to walk down but I cannot stop moving. It feels too familiar, too safe. If I leave this path, I have to face something even more scary than the shadows. I have to face myself.
I power through the treacherous journey, cursing the lovebirds as I pass them by. I see them in a limo embellished with pearls, flowers and a big banner. ‘Just Married’. No. No. No.
I try to close my eyes. I try to ignore the haunting image but it only intensifies. They’re looking at me with disgust. They’re judging me. They’re asking why. Why did it happen? Why not me? No.
I won’t think about it. Let the shadows have their moment. I need this walk. I deserve this walk. I feel eyes on me. My own eyes. I watch myself go down this path while wearing threadbare sweatpants and the same tank top I’ve had since I first joined the shadows.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. I don’t even know where I’m headed. Where do I stop? What is my limit?
The shadows approach me one by one. The first one is a woman wearing a veil and a beautiful gown. When I look at her, all I see is the widest grin. She raises her hand and shows me her ring. A beautiful ring. A symbol of eternity. A promise to love someone forever and ever. A vow to marry the one you truly love. Time is moving ever so slowly. I’m still walking but no matter how many steps I take, this new bride is directly in front of me. Smiling. That’s when I notice something on her teeth. An engraving. ‘Till death do us part. ’ All I want to do is cry. All I want to do is beg her to stop but she won’t.
She passes through me and walks on. My heart is filled with resentment and anger. I curse the lover I see all around me. I don’t deserve to see it. I shouldn’t see any kind of love.
People say that survivor’s guilt doesn’t make any sense. They say ‘At least you survived’ or they say ‘They would want you to be happy’. But how would you react if your one true love spent his life savings on a cruise across the Caribbean, sailing in luxury, meeting locals, sightseeing. The perfect honeymoon. What happens when the clouds turn grey? What happens when the sea beneath the vessel that you float on begins to enrage and bubble with anger? And then suddenly the ship begins to rock and all you can do is hold your husband and pray.
All hope is not lost though. Life boats are sent out. Rescuers come for everyone on the ship. They say women and children but you refuse to leave your husband. It’s all okay though, because the rescuers see your fear and make you a promise. They promise that if you get onto the lifeboat, your husband will follow. And so you do. You climb to your safety and wait for your partner to follow.
You wait. And you wait. Waiting didn’t work so you wait some more. And before you know it your lifeboat starts to float. You look around and he is not there. He hasn’t been saved but you have. How would you react then?
Would you be thankful for your own survival? Would you make peace with the idea of being alone forever? Or would you punish yourself by taking a long route to an unknown destination and curse at those in love?
I shrug off my thoughts of love and being around a man. I don’t need this now. I need to get to my stop. I need this walk. This journey. Just to remember the feeling of being surrounded by people, even if they’re only shadows. My feet begin to ache and I can feel my lungs preparing to give out. I walk this cold path hoping to find an ending. I don’t think there is one. I’m being watched intently. I look up and see a figure in the distance. A woman, a fraction of herself, a mere hollow being with no feeling in her body. Hunched over, hugging herself, muttering things to herself and cursing at the shadows. How can it be?
I feel my brain break free. The shackles and bolts that were once restraining it float away from me and into the sky. I’m free, my thoughts are free. Before my brain can send signals to the rest of my body, tears spill from my eyes.
What am I doing? How can anyone live like this? Living in a repeating cycle of self-blame, hatred and loneliness.
I force the power of the disgust that I’m feeling for myself down to my limbs. It’s time to stop walking. I stop in my tracks and let out a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding. Freedom at last. I look behind me and see the prints of my bare feet. There are multiple. This path has been travelled more than once. I turn to the front, expecting blank snow, only to see more footprints. I’m following myself. I always have been. My grief and guilt haven’t kept me close to my beloved. They’ve kept me circling the same entrapment of my own might, trying to figure out where my destination is. I stand there, my movement suspended. I refuse to step into the footprints that are waiting for me. I know exactly where this path leads. So I have decided. This is where I stop. This is my destination.
THE END.