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Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Higher Power

By Linda McPublished 7 years ago 8 min read
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Peace of mind

Fire.

Fire is supposed to be intimidating and terrifying. It's supposed to represent everything evil and all that Hell stands on, a den of iniquity. It's supposed to be a representation of consumption as the flames lick their victims and devour all in its path. It's supposed to signify ferociousness, strength, devotion, and passion. It's supposed to symbolize fear and karma; things that go in can never come out the same. Fire also models death and the ashes it creates. Fire is a reminder of love and the warmth that radiates off of it. It's what relaxes most of us when we're cold; what we imagine and think of in a log cabin, or camping out at night; when some of us like to have a crisp beer in front of a bonfire with friends or having a small fire pit to roast some marshmallows and sing campfire songs. But of all things, I never thought that witnessing something that I assumed would be so healing and relaxing turn out so differently.

It has almost been a year since I broke up with the guy I fell in love with in the matter of three years being in his arms. Of course, I was naïve and foolish, being so young, but I wasn't stupid. High school relationships rarely ever last, and I acknowledged that. But I still fell blind. I knew for a fact I was never going to marry him. Nevertheless, I lied. To no one other than myself. Things got rocky, as they do in every relationship, but more and more I figured out on my own that I was in the relationship I feared the most. I remained silent and still stayed in a state of denial. I didn't realize it until it hit me. No, literally, hit me. Right across the face. He then spitting out the words, "you deserved it" after I begged, "why?" when he had just broken up with me. After getting in a brawl with a 30 year old women he decided to argue with because he can't control his temper. After letting his guy friends come on our anniversary date, being the only girl in this group of childish guys and paying for his $60 ticket—as well as my own—his lunch, and all of his silly souvenirs. And right in front of his two best friends. All of this in the same day, in the same hour. His friend who didn't utter a word in my defense, but looked away in shame as I sat there in utter shock and disbelief; awe consumed my eyes as my cheek stung immensely and welted with his exact hand print, burned deep red into my cheek that lasted to the next morning. The pain lasted a few days, the pain of the sore, swollen skin, and the pain that ached in my heart that I foolishly ignored. Another metaphor for fire, the fire of hate that burned in him to hit me like that, the loathe and resentment in my eyes and soul, the pain that burned and stung my cheek, and the fear that burned inside, behind my eyelids and into my aching heart. But I was a beautiful, little fool.

That's when it hit me. It wasn't soon after that we broke up for good. Because I was blind enough to let it continue for another two weeks before we officially broke it off. I begged and begged for him to take me back. He in turn, made fun of me with his friends and threw jokes about me left and right like I was a toy. He was immoral. He had tarnished every ounce of my reputation as well as my own self representation by the hands of his sin. Yet, here I was. I couldn't even work up the courage to walk right up to him, look him dead in the eyes, and tell him anything worth mustering up to. But I wanted him to take me back, and to this day, I still genuinely don't know why I wanted that.

It haunts me, even getting a glance of his dark and demonic eyes. Every smack, hit, punch, shove, slam, harassment, assault, and in some darker cases, every rape that I ever endured from him mocked me. I never understood what snapped in him when things felt so good. One day he had picked me up, slammed me into the asphalt street, and spat at me. It left me shocked and confused, there was really no reason to it. We were just standing, enjoying a laugh when he did that, full of rage. To this day he has never told me why. But it has left me permanently cold and bitter inside. He had me believing maybe I really wasn't good enough for anyone and he was the only one willing to discipline me and show me how to be better. Even when I didn't want to do anything sexual, well, he'd show me why I should, for him of course. It made me feel as though I had to please my master rather than my boyfriend at this point in our relationship. Which, I can only assume, I didn't do so well since he cheated on me anyway. He had me brainwashed and scared, frankly. I was like this terrible slave who only ever wanted to prove her worth. To prove she can be perfect. To better my skills, I presume. It took me years after the case to realize that everybody is perfect exactly the way they are.

Well, finally, as of the weekend, I brought myself to the conclusion that I'm alright with being lonesome. I'm independent, I'm brilliant, I'm beautiful, I'm ambitious; hey—I finally got time to sit down and think about my future. And so, I finally took this silly stuffed animal he gave to me, claiming he "loved "me from our first Valentine's day before the barbaric change our relationship took, and I threw it in the fire pit. Drowning it in fire fluid before lighting a match and tossing it in. Its fur soaked the fluid in like a sponge. Its little hairs glistened and flattened with every squeeze of gasoline I dosed it with. The stuffed gorilla went up in flames easily in an instant, just like our relationship had gone ablaze and burnt out, turning into ashes that fluttered away.

I sat alone in front of the fire, watching it melt and bubble from the inside out. I was expecting a glorious feeling inside; you know, a victorious and content kind of feeling. Like a caged animal finally being freed. I did not find myself to finally have my euphoric moment of peace. My soul was not cleansed. I felt quite the opposite. I wasn't dull and depressed, no. But as my eyes stayed locked and mesmerized by the flames that licked away the inside fluff and chewed the adorable gorilla's fur, I felt what it must feel like to be truly evil. The sound of the crackles that relax people during a stressful and cold time like Christmas, has instead made me feel deep and dark. The sound of the flames burning didn't sound like a content fireside night on the Fourth of July, but rather more like the flames of Hell. The scorching heat that radiated off of it kept me breathing, it made me feel neutral, like I shouldn't give a damn when really, I wanted to. I felt nothing but dark and vile. It made me realize what our love really consisted of.

Hate.

I watched it slowly get devoured by the fire; its head burned last. I felt myself become succumbed by awe as I watched the flames devour it whole. I thought I'd never see the day I would attempt to redeem myself of my own past. I thought it would have felt like those dramatic TV shows where the girl throws her ex's crap in a fire and gets released like Calypso. But I am not Calypso. I am not the goddess I once thought I was. I am much darker than that. I can only assume this is what demons must feel like: lost, confused, memorized by the wicked and attracted to the gloom. But the fire did not tempt me nor make me angry, it kept me in a surreal state of calm. As the fire died out, I grabbed the chunk of ash that was left from the stuffed monkey. I couldn't believe I did that. I sat there in the muggy, rainy, and gloomy day staring at the ash. I picked it up with my other hand and crushed it between my fingers as it turned to dust. I felt a change within, the power I had in my hand to crush what once felt like true love, had a different feeling than I anticipated. I assumed I’d feel powerful, but instead rather godly. No longer like a god of despair but more of a god of light or life. God of power. It was then where I fully understood "Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust."

**Disclaimer: This wasn't written to remember him in any way. I do not miss him and quite frankly, can't stand the thought of him. This was for me to open up about a dark history of mine that eats at me on a day-to-day basis. To be acknowledged that terrible things happen but only positivity blossoms from all events, but only if you allow it to. It was for me to show my strength and empowerment. To commemorate myself and to all those who also fell victim to domestic violence. It has also been over 5 years since this has happened and I am so proud of where I have come mentally. I have overcome those demons and I have found my worth. It can happen for you. It will happen for you. This is your life, so live it only the way you want to. I am finally one with myself and at peace. I have met my innermost strength and have met my soul. Remember, the troubles of today will not be of those tomorrow. It will always become the past. You are continuing to grow and prosper. Think about all the challenges you have face and accomplished so far. In 5 years from now, everything you are worrying about now will be nothing but a memory. You got this. Don't ever be afraid to speak out or get help. There is absolutely not shame in that. Everything will come together. It will. I promise.

breakups
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