The unzipping

Sometimes I have the urge to unzip myself.

I would find that imaginary zipper up by my head and pull it down the length of my body. I would shirk off my skin, and step out of myself; clean, new, fresh, reborn. I would turn my face up to the sunshine and breathe in deeply; filling myself up with fresh, warm air. I would look upon the world with new eyes, a clear vision of myself and of what lies ahead.

I would happily step out of the muck that covers this body.

I wish this were the case. That I could actually separate myself from the hurt, the trauma, the shit that is my burden to carry around. If I could just shake it off, shed it, I would be

FREE.

Free at last from those things that hold me down. Free at last from those things that block my path toward the light, toward my true-self. My most authentic and vulnerable self.

The me that lies dormant yet struggling inside.

Sometimes I think that she’s afraid to come out for fear of getting hurt again. Hurt by love and hurt by loss. She likes the safety of her cave, her womb of lies. But if I gently coax her, if I whisper that it will be okay, maybe she will begin to believe that there is hope. Maybe she will begin to believe that she is enough.

And there won’t be any need for a zipper as these two selves become one.

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