How do you rewrite the story of rejection?
Months ago, the nuclear bomb came. Obliterated all sense of self worth, of hope, of happiness. Reignited only a sense of betrayal and foolishness. And triggered every landmine laid over the 25 years of my existence – every blast of rejection – of being loved, wanted, revered – and then, not. The pain of being abandoned, violently, cruelly. By my Grandmother. Grandfather. Father. Friends. Lovers. Aunty. Uncle. Cousin. Society.
This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?
I'm warning you. I'm going to get angry. D'you see? You're not wanted. Understand?
I have survived the blasts of rejection before. But this one is not like the others. This one brought the nuclear winter. The great ice age. Nothing endured, nothing grew. And the landmines – they just keep triggering. As I walk the bleak landscape of my own isolation, all my pain is resurrected, blow by blow by blow.
My greatest fear is being alone in the dark. When the lights go out, and there is no one else in the room. But there is something in the shadows, and I am alone with it. Something disembodied, but present nonetheless. And it is here, that I am forced to return, again and again.
So, how do you rewrite the story of rejection?
You go deep into that rejection. Into darkness. And you make friends with what you find there. Because it’s the only thing you can do. Because in the dark, you’re the same. Just lonely monsters, waiting out the winter together.
You know perfectly well you'll only meet me down there…