Yet, by calling it ’full,’ I created emptiness.

Those were dark days. I would consider them empty if it meant these days were somehow full; but a few hours ago, I remembered the time I went missing and realized I'm no further removed from the absolute constriction of vacancy than I was then.

It was freezing. I had determined not to be seduced by the warmth of the fire pit, so I bundled up and set out alone.

A group of 'counselors' told me I had issues and referred to them as being "deeply rooted." I find it hard to believe that something rooted 'deeply' has the ability to resurface so often. I think these aforementioned issues are not deep at all, but quite shallow - directly under the skin, waiting for the right comment or situation to enable them to seep through my pores for exposure.

With temperatures so low, the tears froze immediately on my face.

Something that was, I thought, buried deeply, was uprooted last night by a mere word association, and I spent the majority of the evening unable to shake the eerie feeling that he will haunt me forever. I thought that if I cleaned thoroughly enough, I would rid my life of any memory of him. I thought that if I threw those passions into another source, they would take a new form, one quite dissimilar to the one identified with him.

But when I smelled the smoke and saw the fire's glow, it was hard to turn my eyes from it.

They told me I needed to tackle my issues subjectively and find out what is at the heart of my "poor decisions regarding relationships." They said that because of those decisions, I will never amount to anything. Worth nothing, I gathered my crumbling interior and sacrificed it to the flames, hoping that somewhere amidst the embers I would find worth. The last of me - my humble remainder - drove my body toward the heat, numb to any previous warnings against it.

And then, it started to rain. Pour. The smoldering ashes crawling up my arms and legs were subdued by moisture, and at that point, the air temperature was even lower than before. I was an adult, degenerated to an infantile state, tossed back and forth between depravity and defeat: remorseful, helpless, terrified. 

It must've been what I wanted - at least, what I thought was best - if I so willingly stood in the cold and allowed the rain to beat down on my mutilated skin. The downpour helped me to realize that visible injuries are not prerequisite to healing and comfort is a constant hunger that cannot be filled by just anything.

I am working to get to the bottom of these 'issues' and determine why I do now what I did then, why there is such familiarity and comfort in the pain, how I sometimes long to go back there.

I could have called it empty, seeing beyond that locale to a life more full. Yet, by calling it 'full,' I created emptiness. Never was I so aware of the void until stood amid it. Never did I acknowledge what I needed until I got what I thought I wanted.