It still lingers. The same feelings stay as if it only happened yesterday.
I am so grateful for these people as they hone me to become the person who I am today. They are like the epitome of supportive folks who refuse to leave me out of their sight.
My mother made me feel the warmth I have been longing in for years.
My father ensured I get to wear expensive and sturdy leather to brag about.
My sister inspired me to aim high towards the betterment of my future.
My brother guided me through his words of wisdom.
My best friend focused my attention to the friendship we are building.
My spouse expressed his affection through his love language: physical touch.
My teacher improved my perception on choosing the ideal career for myself.
My supervisor encouraged me to work harder everyday.
Yes, they are helping me. Yes, they believe I deserve all the nice things.
But why am I still longing for more? Am I being greedy? They are great people, but why do I feel empty?
I close my eyes, so I won’t get distracted with my negative thoughts.
But somehow, I slowly feel the pain dawdle in almost every inch of my body. Wait, can you hear that? Somebody’s crying. I wonder who that is.
I find this small room with one door and zero windows. I pierce my left ear by the door.
Right. This is where the sobs are coming from. I want to show some respect, so I plan to knock; but something tells me to turn the knob because maybe that person needs help.
I open the door, but it’s dark. I don’t feel scared at all, but I can feel the melancholy that lives inside. I take a deep breath, open my arms wide, and softly say, “do you need a hug?”
Suddenly, a small, frail, and seemingly a three-year-old child hugs my legs. She continues to cry, but I crouch and give her the hug I think she deserves. I peek on her face and the funny thing is, she looks like me when I was three.
Then, I start to feel nauseous. I can hear other people inside this dark room. I begin to feel the pain again. I hurriedly cover my ears and close my eyes. There, I find my answers.
The warmth my mother made me feel comes from a fire ignited by a metal lighter.
The sturdy leather my father made me wear were the bruises I got from his expensive belt’s buckle and end tip.
The ridicules my sister told me were because of my poor performance in school, unlike her who was constantly at the top.
The words my brother uttered were merely insults, rubbing my stupidity and my disability in my face.
The friendship I thought I was building with my best friend was nothing more but a pipe dream.
The physical touch my spouse gave me was his fists on my abdomen and huge hands to pin me down.
The support I received from my teacher was her manipulation leaving me to doubt my own skills.
The encouragement my supervisor told me was nothing but power tripping and micro management.
I am so scared that I open my eyes in panic. The child is nowhere to be found. I decide to run for the door that shows this bright, white light, seemingly tells me that there is still hope out there.
I made it. I was able to get out of the scary room.
The outside looks all painted in white. But as my eyes adjust to this new environment, colors start to pile up. I can now see clouds. I can feel the cold breeze. I can hear the rustling of a huge tree. I decide to take a break and sit underneath it.
I think I’m just dreaming. Or maybe on a nightmare.
But whatever, just please let me sleep for now.