Short story: The trunk (2)

Please read Short story: The trunk (1) first.

A crack of light.
Not much, but just enough to pull me out of physical darkness.

The trunk is deteriorating.
I don’t know what time has passed. Or what time I have left.
What will I do if this safe, horrid space I have created for myself, no longer exists?
The small, lonely, dark prison that I forged for myself.

Maybe I have to be my own problem,
and, somehow, my own solution.
My own helping hand.

Not right now though. I curl up into a tiny ball.

The trunk continues to fall apart, so I shrink smaller into its corners.

The; Polly Pocket, photo, butterfly, phone and book of judgements I have of myself - still weigh me down, I can’t let them go.

The trunk is falling apart. I feel worse.

I hear voices outside of the trunk.
Is this help?

1 - What is there to be sad about?
2 - She just needs to go outside, maybe it is a Vitamin D deficiency?
1 - It can’t be all that bad, she was smiling when I last saw her!

I see two pairs of eyes looking at me through a crack in the trunk’s wood; ocean blue and deep dark brown.

1 - Let us know if you need anything.

The voices and the eyes leave.
No helping hand.

The safety of the darkness and the deserving I feel of it, is being taken away from me.

I slept.
I put my hand outside the trunk.
Lifting the lid took all my energy.

My front door is still open.
Letters piled up.
The world didn’t stop just because I did.

I curl up again, I feel sharp.

I stepped outside the trunk.
I took 10 steps to my phone.
This is as far as I can go.

I turned my phone on.
The world feels too fast; holidays, smiles, dinners.
I can feel sinking and fear.

I found an email address.
The person on the other end may be able to hold my hand.

I met my helping hand.
They know others like me.
They are not shocked.
I am not a problem to be solved.

Gentle words.
Less sharp.
I stand taller.
Softer.
I can look you in the eye.
I can tell you and myself the truth.

The;

1. Polly Pocket sold at a car boot sale when I was 8.
   Is ok, it found another home, I am safe.

2. The photo of a love that never happened.
   I am loved.

3. A butterfly, gifted, now buried in a pot of soil.
   Given back to the earth with love.

4. A phone I once owned, that received that phone call.
   The shame is not mine. I am not scared anymore.

5. A book of judgements, I have of myself.
   Is still being written, but the ink is faint, the words slower. I am a good person.

A helping hand.
A person deserving.
A trunk that is no longer needed.

Ms ASK