Two More Miracles

I opened the closet and took the small, dusty box from the bottom of it. With uncertain and shaky hands, I opened it.

Sure as the Sun shines, there it was. Black funeral dress. Black funeral dress that I kept just as a reminder of my former life.

A warning.

My life hasn't been the same since that day. I refused him; I ran from him; I ran from my old addiction only to greet another one. Careful and a little scared I slipped the silk dress that hung on my body like a rag.

One step. Two steps. I walked over to the mirror and looked at myself. Or, at least, what's left of me. Just a shell of my former self. I twirled around the room, not finding any reason to do so. I wanted to see the stars twinkling in my eyes again; I wanted to be able to get out on the street on a rainy day, without a feeling of guilt falling on me alongside the small water droplets. I wanted to be free of this feeling, feeling like I was smothered and pushed into darkness.

I looked at myself at the mirror once again. I was smiling. And, I liked the way the black dress looked on me. I laughed.

But it wasn't the happy laugh. It turned into tears, falling down my face and loosing themselves in the smooth fabric of the dress. The dress itself started feeling heavy and tight on me; I began suffocating and more tears came falling down. Almost, as if reminded me of that day.

Making sure I haven't forgot.

I curled in a ball on the floor and cried. I cried for hours, I cried for days.

My parents wanted me to see someone. A professional. So, I went. And, she gave me little pink and red pills. To make me feel better.

One pill. Two pills. Three pills. They had no effect on me. They just made me drowsy.

One month. Two months. I was popping pills as if they were Skittles. Moreover, I found myself unable to live without them. They were my substitute for my past that I tried to forget. They were my only friends. So colorful, full of advices and consolation. They were numbing the pain, and that was what I wanted to achieve. They were also numbing the sense of reality and sanity.

I found myself sitting on the same chair, at the same office, opposite to the same 'professional' that gave me the pills. We spent hours talking, well she was talking, and I was in my own world, anxiously waiting for the little timer to go off, so that I could go home and travel back into my world between the sheets. I wanted to be numb.

They just didn't understand me, and my needs. My past and my experiences. They told me I was crazy; they told me I wasn't being myself and that they feared the person I was becoming. They decided to take me to another 'professional'.

I obliged. I didn't say a word while they were sticking needles in my arms. I didn't say a world while they were closing the door behind me. I didn't say a word when the lights went out.

They told me it was for the best. The best for me.

I guess they were afraid of me. Afraid for my life and me. But, if I didn't care for it, why would they? I gave up on my life the day I first wore the black silky dress. There was no one and nothing that could make me go back to the time I existed before that day.

A week alone with myself, and without my colorful friends, I realized that I didn't wanted to be that person anymore. I wanted to live. I wanted a second chance at life they were giving me.

I cried for forgiveness. I cried for second chance. I cried for my wasted life.

The colorful pills were gone. They were buried in the infinity of the sewers. They disappeared quickly than the way they waltzed into my life. And I didn't wanted to go back to that time again. I buried my love, I buried my pills.

I have my life back.

And I'm determined to live it.