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Writer's pictureGrae Queen

At My Lowest




As my eyes begin to focus

On the dim light from above

A dark sense of familiarity sets in

"Again, huh?"


I couldn't feel my legs

But I could see them

Twisted and broken

Destroyed from the fall


The pain didn't come at first

The pit was too narrow

But, like a flash of lightning

It came, and settled in


I begin to cry

I begin to wail

I cry so hard

That I quickly lost my voice


Why?

Why did I fall again?

Though I had managed to climb so high

I fell further than before


I don't want to move

I don't want to go on

With my cold free hand

I hug myself to sleep


I don't know how long I've been here

Minutes? Days? Months? Or even years?

Through my painful discomfort

I find...comfort…


I find comfort in my disfigured joints

With the inability to move

With the small amount of musty, damp air

And the toxic dark shadows that accompany me


My eyes have gotten used to the dark

I forget the feeling of the sun's heat

I don't remember the scent of fresh air

All I know...is this…


Then came the itch

Not one that I can scratch

Not one that I can will away

It just...continues to bother me


I ignore it, or at least try

The more I ignored it

The louder it becomes

...Louder…?


The sound of the slight wind

The noise of others walking above me

They sounded happy…

They sounded...free…


I begin to realize how tight everything felt

How painful everything was

How did I expect to live here?

Why was I ok with living like this?


I look up, through proving difficult

It looked so far away

I stretched my hand towards the small dot of light

It felt so close...yet so far


I try to move my legs

I try my hardest to move

Instead of moving up

I crumble further down


I begin to feel defeated

I feel it worm it's way down to my core

Tears fill my eyes

All I want to do is cry


Everything felt so uncomfortable

So unbearably uncomfortable

I begin to hyperventilate

I cannot breathe…


I cry harder and harder

Until I drown myself in the salty mix

How will I survive?

I am going to die!


I don't know how long I am crying for

I can feel a pool begin to form beneath me

I will die under the weight of this defeat

I will be crushed by my neverending list of failures


Just as I was allowing myself to fall back into darkness

Something hit me across the head

With my tired free hand I grab it

I feel a small, smooth wooden stick


A stick? Just a stick?

Not a rope or a hand?

Just as I begin to question it, I heard a voice

"Get yourself out of there"


'Get myself out of here?' I asked myself

How could I?

It was so hard, so painful

It was damn near impossible


"Get yourself out of there!"

"Only you can do it"

Voices began to pour into the small pit

Surrounding me in a warm comfort


I felt their warmth enter me

Comforting me in ways I've forgotten

A strength began to build within me

One I never knew I had


With the wooden stick in hand

I stab the moist Earth beside me

I pull myself up

The weight of my body brings me nowhere


But I don't give up

I cannot give up

I refuse to die here

I will fight to get myself out...

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