The war on weakness
January 19, 2012 § Leave a comment
And then one day she realised that the effort it took to be weak and sentimental was far too much more than the strength it took to suck it up and keep walking on. She realised that the courage she had within her had been kept in storage for far too long, like a muscle that grows weak from disuse. Strength had atrophied, shrivelled up, yet was still there, nonetheless. Now taking it off the shelf, she blows the dust off of its top and polishes it till it shines. Just because she’s tired of whining, complaining, feeling helpless and sad all the time. Just because the want is too much to bear, too strong that she can feel its palpable presence, the weight of it, like a smooth grey stone in the palm of her hand. Because the black wave she feels starting to engulf her must be stopped. In order to change things, she must help herself. Perhaps this is the start. Perhaps this is the solution, the end. Maybe not talking about it, not allowing feelings to permeate every single thought, such that it oozes from her pores, is the key to the undoing of undoing.
She realised it this afternoon, walking to the bus stop in the near darkness and the chilly damp, her footsteps clipped yet unhurried, with hands buried in her pockets as far as they would go. At the moment of inception, she felt a physical weight being lifted from her rounded shoulders. Like a fat person sitting on her finally decided to stand and let her be free. Maybe the choice to be strong, stoic, is tantamount to the choice of happiness. Maybe, just maybe this is it.
Steel your heart, stop your crying, there will be no more fairy floss and butterflies. The moratorium on needing hugs has begun. The war on weakness is on.