My soul plays this game with me. It hides deep inside covered by a shroud of darkness. My soul is broken and the pieces are scattered remains that cower in dark corners. They are jagged and try to cut those who come too close. They have names: Fear. Doubt. Guilt. Worry. Sadness. But they are quick and shifty. They are shapeshifters. Fear quickly transforms into Worry. Guilt turns to Sadness. Doubt and Blame combine and transform into Regret. But they all end up looking the same way: Hopeless.
So I hide. Inside. I hide. From myself, from the world, and from those who love me the most. I cower. I hide in the recesses of a cavernous, empty cave that reverberates back my fears lest I forget why I am hiding in the first place. I hide in the box marked “FRAGILE.”
But I have people, who have whole souls, that will try to pull me out. They aren’t afraid of boxes that are stamped FRAGILE. Their souls have sharp scissors that can cut through the protective barriers my fragments of soul pieces try to protect. Their souls have words of encouragement. They have words of hope. They push open anyways. They grit their teeth and dig in. They let in the light. They call out, “Ready or not, here I come.” And they come around each corner, looking in each crevice, and they PULL ME OUT. They tell me, “it is OK to let people see your hurt.” They say, “Just come out with us for one drink.” They encourage and say, “Everyday won’t always be this hard.” They say, “One day I got my soul back, and you will get yours back too.” Some bring their broken soul pieces and begin to weave them with mine. Some push past the tears and fears and reach deep down. They pull out the pieces, even in the midst of shapeshifting. They keep pulling, even if they get cut.