By Audreyann, Chilande
The Violence of Becoming
Healing is often described as soft –
as progress, as light, as something that moves forward in a straight, upward line.
But sometimes, it feels like rupture.
Like being pulled apart and reconstructed in ways you don’t fully understand.
Like becoming someone new, over and over again, without ever being asked if you’re ready.
This is what that feels like.
The Devil in the Detail
Wake up.
The walls are caving in-something’s…
something is after you.
Can you hear it?
There’s a labyrinth inside my room.
Some days I end up at a dead end,
but most days I switch between masks.
I alternate between personalities, and
I think I see God… handing me the mask,
leading me to yet another variation of myself.
And sometimes I believe I am reborn.
I entertain the thought
of waking up naked, covered in blood,
my eyes blurry,
blinded by amniotic fluid and blood-
like a baby being born.
And you’d think by now
I’d be accustomed to the feeling.
But it’s always brand new.
Each time is different from the last.
And it’s like with each rebirth,
I give up a piece of my soul.
But in exchange for what, exactly?
Being covered in blood?
Is that it -the sacrifice?
Then the masks…
they must be the distraction, the blinders.
So that each time I’m handed one,
I become the lamb –
holding the knife for my slaughterer.
Then that must make me
the priest’s favorite lamb.
Docile. Meek. Gullible.
Ever so unknowing.
Each time I wake up covered in blood-
…my blood?
The mask.
The blade.
The version of me that was cut open
to pull the current me out.
It’s a sadistic ritual.
But the priest,
God,
and the slaughterer-
are all me.
Healing is not always gentle.
Sometimes it asks you to confront the
parts of yourself that break you,
reshape you,
and bring you back – different each time.
Not whole.
But aware.
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