Retraction

Retraction-

1. a disavowal or taking back of a previous assertion
2. the act of pulling or holding or drawing a part back
3. something recanted or disavowed

Side effects-

•Feeling of lack
•Unwilling, false continuation through the inadequacy
•Mental, emotional and possibly physical pain

Preservative-

1. a compound that is added to protect from decay or decomposition

Effectiveness-

•In some cases insufficient, however, sometimes able to stand in and successfully recreate a similar substance that had been abused through retraction

When something is retracted from you, depending on its importance, your systems crash. Its significance can alter when gone, and it's insufficient feeling given when gone has the potential to be the end of your existence.

In the unfortunate cases of retraction in a life, the pain is indescribable before it dissolves completely and you're left with nothing but a distinguished numbness that you can pretend or force yourself to be compliant with. You desire nothing more than the innocence and complacency you had before retraction occured and left you in the rued state of despair. However, every decision you learn to make is rued now. Your brain has adapted to this new, melancholic lifestyle where you're diffident in regard to every motion put forth before you and by you. Relationships are impossible and each breath leaves the question of purpose lingering through your mind. Each night you become engulfed in the memories that passed previously of retraction. You relive, but underneath the dream, your stomach makes you ill with guilt, anxiety and fear as the true knowledge of the ending poisons you. Emotions become powered by so little that they can barely exist.

Still you're haunted with hope that implores you to keep searching for a preservative.




When I was vernal, young and innocent, there was so much for me to fear. I found myself with the untammed reverance for simple aspects of life. Death scared me most of all. I would dig deep in my internal thoughts of what I believed death and it's consumption of all, truly meant for me. My immature and easy respect for life bordered on venerance of what would be left for me in the silence if I were to unexpectedly be engulfed. Its black oceans would drown me when I shut my eyes and as my terror increased so did my age. As I understood more through religious and scientific education, desperation for a way to turn, a thought to believe, gained so much I chose my own direction that had brought me up from the time I was born. Comming to the assumption belief is better than nothing, I prayed to my Heavenly Father every night asking for forgivness, strength and safety for all I know and love. Simple wishes for birthdays and special events lingered throughout my prayers as well. My philosophy grew from something I had repeatedly heard and regeritated, 'why not believe? If you're wrong, in the long run you'll never know'

My belief was dismissed, however, when my parents died after just fifteen years of my life. I hadn't known them, I hadn't been finished learning and inspiring from them. Rage pulsed through my horomonally pierced viens and tears stained my raw cheeks for many days. Loss was hard for me and I feared for my parents' souls. I again was dragged under a blanket of questioning uncertainty about your animation after consciousness gives out. I bawled for their empty, lifeless corps. It struck me as queer when I looked down into the grim cradels and saw peaceful expressions softly eased onto their soothed, forever rememberable faces. They seemed beautifully finished, a fullfilled life had granted them entrance to a gracious night. They described the unknown.

Five years passed and my acknowledges of basic, inevitable human endings became solid when I had been finishing my third year of med-school. I saw so much when I took my practice in local and national hospitals. Some people came in that made me break down that night after seeing such pathetic, unsolvable viruses destroy such warm innocent patients, some so young the number ten was the largest they could imagine. Still, in their presence, I falsely reassured and attempted to uplift drowned spirits, being sure to have my sturdy, confident shell camouflage my shaking emotion.

All my life I've delt with death, realized its possibilities, drugged myself with any chance of religious opportunities and embraced the sight of it on the holiness of premature faces. Now, standing in front of me, I see myself, eyes burdened with red and inside, a hole aches like a nerve screams during a lack of limb. Somehow I'm standing, my chest urges that some beast and tragedy has taken an important piece of me and ran with it. I fear I'll never regard myself with the same aspects, instead I want to melt into the center most part of the world and never become of anything again.