The Darkness

Darkness. She was intimately familiar with the darkness that lived inside her, that sometimes seemed to inhabit her very soul. Some days she embraced it in all its horror and other days she rejected it with a strength borne of desperation. For years there had been a balance, but a year of changes had upset that very delicate balance and more and more she found herself giving into the darkness.

The darkness was her enemy. No matter how well she knew it of that she was always aware. But the darkness was seductive too and while she was aware of the danger, sometimes she didn't care. Because the darkness promised release, an eventual freedom from pain, freedom from her own mind. And as time continued its inexorable march, that freedom became more and more appealing. And the darkness took advantage of that, sinking its claws into her, infecting her with its poison. Soon it would consume her.

Sleep eluded her that night, her unfocused and scattered mind allowing the darkness to creep in. Carefully, it reached out its tendrils and began to gather those scattered thoughts, twining them together in a way that fit its purpose. Unaware of what the darkness was doing, of why her thoughts had begun to clarify, she found herself thinking back over the day, criticizing her every word and action. Why was it so hard for her keep her mouth shut? Why couldn't she be more competent in her job? Why were words so difficult sometimes? Why was she so useless? Around and around she went, sleep drifting farther and farther away as the darkness weaved its malicious web, drawing her deeper and deeper into its embrace. The internal vitriol she spewed at herself ate away at her, driving her to despair. It took her a long time, too long, to finally sense the web closing in around her mind. She began to fight it but those tendrils of darkness had wormed their way deep into her very being and this night she would not win. When sleep at last claimed her, pulling her free from the darkness and granting her mind the respite it so desperately needed, it found her more fractured than ever, the damage done by the darkness bordering on the irreparable. But there was still a spark of resilience and she had the strength to continue fighting the darkness, at least for a little while.

Hope

Hope is a delicate, fragile thing. Like a crystalline object, so easily shattered. Or a spark so easily extinguished by a breath of wind. It was this spark, one that had remained stubbornly alive for months, that she hoped to destroy once and for all.

"Um, I don't know how to say this, but, I like you. I don't want this to affect the way that we work together or anything, but I wanted to tell you."

Those first words came out in a jumbled rush growing more measured after the confession had been uttered and ending limply.

"What?"

He sounded genuinely surprised. She'd thought he might have had an inkling of her growing feelings, but evidently not. Or he was a good actor.

She repeated those three simple words. They were harder to get out this time because she knew what was coming.

"Thank you for your honesty but, I don't feel as strongly. I like you as a friend and a co-worker though. And don't worry about work, this won't affect that at all."

His words were spoken kindly, gently. She chanced a glance up and made eye contact. She didn't know what she expected to see. Judgment, disgust, pity. But all she saw was compassion and understanding. She knew he'd been where she was now and it was obvious to her that he didn't want to cause her any pain.

"I understand and thanks for your honesty."

The air hung between them awkwardly for several moments before he turned away.

"See you on Monday."

"Bye."

She watched him walk away, waiting for the relief that it was over to wash over her. Instead waves of pain and grief threatened to overwhelm her. She hurried to her car and let the tears come. Why did it hurt so much? She knew he was going to reject her, they always rejected her. She'd only been actively interested in four men in her almost thirty years. The first was the only one she'd dated, the other two had rejected her and now he had too.

What was it that made her so undesirable? So unlovable? No, she didn't fit society's standard of beauty in the slightest, but were men truly so unable to see past that? Was her appearance always going to be the roadblock to finding love and happiness?

Long minutes passed as the tears kept coming. This was wrong. She'd only confessed her feelings because she'd known he would reject her. She'd been certain that once that happened, her feelings would fade and that silly spark of hope would finally die. But there it was, a stubborn light that continued to burn.

Time, she thought, her breathing steadying as the tears slowed, all I need is time.

Four months later she bid him good night after another long day of work. She glanced over at him as she prepared to back out of her parking spot and head for home. His eyes were glued to his phone, he never glanced up. He never did.

A familiar pain in her chest reminded her of her unrequited feelings. Confessing had done nothing to extinguish them, she still liked him and he was still uninterested. How pathetic was that.

As she turned out of the parking lot, she wondered how long those feelings would continue. She'd never experienced anything like it. She'd gotten over her previous rejections well enough, but she couldn't kick this one. She turned on her music, anything to distract her, to pull her out of her thoughts.

Time, she thought for the umpteenth time, all I need is time.

Hope seems like a delicate, fragile thing. Like a crystalline object, appearing easily shattered. Or a spark which can be so easily extinguished by a breath of wind. But sometimes that crystalline object is hard as diamond and sometimes that breath of wind sets the spark ablaze.