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  • Samya Senaratne

Hurt


I feel what it is to be an adult means to be mortally wounded and hurt inside but to go on with day-to-day mundane tasks with an air of normalcy - lest they detect your hurt.

If that is what it means to be an adult, then I believe I am now a fully-fledged one.

All my personal fairy tales have fallen apart and left me disenchanted, and my self-proclaimed prophecies of grandeur have proven humiliatingly false.

What is left now, but to live? And to live as if nothing has broken me inside, nothing has abandoned me, deceived me, insulted me, censured me, abused me, let me down, given me false hope and left me utterly, terribly, alone.

It is a tall order, but life demands all adults to perform this impossible task impeccably. Some fail and seek out help to stabilize their deteriorating emotional state, and some go on pretending that nothing is wrong, until it is all too much and then they decide to end the pain.

Either way, I am not judging. To each their own. To hurt is to hurt is to hurt.

Whatever the source, whatever the way it feels- a lump in your throat, uncontrollable tears in your eyes, inability to get out of bed for days, or an exceptionally dark mood which no amount of light can penetrate, or a mix of all- it is all hurt.

So, I've come to the realization that I have no control over most aspects of my life, or the people in it. I can neither break my heart at every turn and bend and reel from the pain for months every time it happens, nor can I cherry-pick what I come across in life. Because now, hurt happens ever so frequently.

I have let go of control, of trying to perfect the story of my life.

It is as far from perfect as it could be. Most things I thought were valuable and worthy of protection at all costs, no longer hold a special place in my heart. The list is dwindling.

I hope I get by, I hope you do too.