In a box

I was in a box.

Trapped.

Closed off from everything I wanted.

Limited in what I could try.

Limited in who I could be.

The lid was tight.

Sometimes it loosened.

Light would slip in.

I’d push against it.

Lift it, climb out, and breathe.

When asked, I climbed back into the box.

Willingly.

Respectfully.

Convinced the discomfort meant something.

That patience would be rewarded.

I learned to shrink.

But remain hopeful.

I stayed quiet.

Gripping myself for comfort.

I told myself it would make sense later.

She saved me.

From the restlessness she created.

Over and over again.

Until I was dependent and scared.

Believing that needing her was the same as being loved.

The lid always closed again.

Sometimes without warning.

Sometimes gradually.

I didn’t notice at first.

Not until I recognized the darkness.

The box became safe.

The darkness was home.

Fear became normal.

Longing was all I knew.

I accepted my fate and believed it was my power.

The lid is gone now.

The walls are torn.

The light is there, but my eyes won’t open.

She can't be found.

And I’ve learned the darkness was never mine to carry.