The Girl Trying to Wash Dishes

And so you know the girl who used to share so openly about her struggles? If you haven't noticed, she stopped. She figured that the world didn't deserve to hear her bull crap. After all, she will always be that attention seeking whore in their eyes as long as she existed in earth right? She figured that she should halt the pleas of an understanding listening ear with the harshest full stop in the universe. She listened to the voices telling her to shut her trap and fade into the vocal oblivion through her pledge of others-centered silence. Hopefully, there'll be no more dirty dishes accumulated from her past that would be thrown into the kitchen sink to be used against her eventually. At that point, there's no amount of dishwasher liquid that could cleanse the stains of judgements hurled at her by villainous viscous gravies or enmeshed bits of greens clinging onto the bones of trauma's past. She scrubs always earnestly at those stubborn stains alone, yet at the back of her mind, begging for the aid of the magic of carefully curated formulas designed to eliminate the filth she felt. She knew that hoping for the magic was futile - in fact, she gave it up altogether in fear of drawing more attention to herself that she perceived oncoming condemnation for. She would stand at the sink by herself for hours, days, weeks and months, enshrouded with self-degradation. She didn't even feel deserving of using the cheapest dishwashing liquid to clear the dirty dishes piled in the sink. She diluted the reservoir of soap she had in her spirit just so it would last longer because the dishes kept piling in, one by one and the magical angel she hoped for, unadmittedly, hid among the crowd of toiletries in the storeroom, unused, un-summoned and uncompelled by the silent beckons she released into the air of solitude. She thought: how silly and conceited was I to have the audacity to feel hopeful that the magic would find her; would perceive her pain behind the habromania facade. She scratched the tears from her eyes, more vigorously than mere windshield wiper fingers should ever permit for emotional constraint. She glimpsed into an ineffable kaleidoscope of phosphenes and as she searched the universe's spectrum of all that lay in front of her, she looked for the seemingly superficial acknowledgement from others. She craved the words of "I know you're not okay" to be the time traveller's wife as those words may be coupled with a hug, manoeuvring through the Romanesque labyrinth of her ears, just so she could internalise that people truly cared to look beyond her mask. She bit her lip She always does Because she knew that even if she was broken, she had to count on herself to get unbroken even if she heard the bellowing brontide that convinced her of the inadequacies she had cast aside to forcibly empower herself to continue even when she felt like it was her against the world. She created her magic. Her own magic. The magic ran on tins of weetameals that she convinced herself of her alamont ability to deal with the guilt of a binge designed to numb all her silent pain she chose to conceal for the welfare of others. She was an eccedentesiast; she went on so fervently with her ideas to change her life and the world around her. "What a silly child" was what she came to realise as she felt all her desperate attempts of being heard being shoved aside as stupidity at its finest. She felt like they were all embarrassingly desperate attempts at trying to rebuild her floors of social acceptance and ceilings of ambition. Her magic kept collapsing into itself She collapsed continuously along with it But there she was with a paper bag over her head, still trying to avoid marring the world with the sight of her self-perceived grotesque monstrosity. She tried again to shut her trap to prohibit her toxic verbal cesspool from drowning others apart from herself. She was trying but nobody cared to reignite her magic So again, even when she gets broken, she looks within her bottle of forcibly infinitesimal supply of diluted strength to get unbroken on her own.