My Essays

Moment of downpour

I have been through tough times of my own. In fact I have been in darkness for a lot of my life. See, I am a punching bag. I am the shoulder that that is cried on. I am the one that gives the hugs and hides my pain. Punching bag: an inflated or stuffed bag, usually suspended, punched with the fists as an exercise. Punching bags are filled with sand, and they are sowed together. My seams have started to come apart... sand seeping out of it like an hour glass. Perfectly timing my braking point. The point in which I can no longer hold in my troubles. The point in which I can no longer move on. The point in which, for the first time in my life, I give up. Today I had that moment the moment where the sand started to spill so rapidly that it hurt. My best friend... a person that I would gladly die for had a grandmother. Now, this grandmother meant everything to her. She wanted to be like her. Sadly she passed away of breast cancer, leaving my best friend with her necklace. The necklace was so close up to her neck that it gave me a memory, a horrible memory of my friend. A friend who tried but failed to hang himself. The rope cut his neck leaving a scar. Without a thought I reached out and grabbed it and pulled it away from her neck. She got very upset and started immediately telling me not to touch it, ever. And telling me about her grandmother. The way that she talked made me feel like she believed that I did not understand pain. The pain of loss. It was happing again I felt like the punching bag. I was supposed to stop and take it and apologize and take it and let her punch the ripping punching bag. For some reason though I couldn’t, I left... I blew up my self. I was crying and for some reason, actually shaking. I left. It was so blurry I screamed and ran, I ran just to run. I broke down into tears and could not breathe. It scares me to think of what I might have done if I had kept running but a friend stopped me. She let me cry and for the first time she was the punching bag and I was the one who was the puncher. She even helped me stuff some sand into my bag and tighten the seams. I am not completely healed. But I am thankful that she let me. She let me be the voice.