In Feeling There is Strength

Troubles

The forest provided you silence and mercy, allowing you to cry, to feel without being forced to explain or understand why. With the foliage looming above you, cascading against your shoulders with every step, you were provided more comfort than you'd ever been given before.

World be damned, you'd rather be alone. It was safer alone without people capable of destroying you with a few words or actions. Vulnerability was dangerous. The rest of your family had succumbed to it. Your dad had been skinned with pride and lust, an unfortunate ego; your mom was drowning in destroyed trust from dad's affair; your sister had been a slave to the concept of friends, lost herself attempting to appease others; and your brother had confided in his friends, been lured into an escape route he could never be claimed from. You were the only sane one left. And, let's face it, sane is overshooting it a bit when your only confidants were the trunks of ancient trees that neither cared nor responded.

But there you could feel . Alone, unloved, unwanted, and no longer needed, you had nothing better to do than drown in the air whistling through the leaves and be cradled by the weeds snaking up your ankles. It's the closest you would get to an embrace nowadays.

Jughead was dating Betty.

Jughead had made love to Betty.

You were nothing in comparison to that.

All the moments you'd tried to give him weren't enough to mean anything.

And you were on the ground, head in your knees, fingers scratching into the cold, hard earth as sobs wracked your snot-slicked lips.

It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. Everything was suffocating.

You could've screamed in pain if your lungs had breath, but it was stolen from your lips like a sucker from a child. All you could do was hide and hope that your heart would stop hurting, that your tears would stop falling, that nature would pick you up and carry you forward.

And, eventually, it did.

The snot stopped, reduced to sniffling, and you wiped your nose across your sleeve in an attempt to clean some of the mess from your face. Thankfully, only the evening darkness could see your disheveled appearance.

The forest let you feel when things became too much to carry on your own. It took some of your burden on its swaying branches and sang you comfort with the rustling foliage. You avoided straying too far, wary of the all-encompassing darkness that could swallow you whole, but the thrill of the deep woods was enticing.

Running your fingertips on the edge of the nearest tree, you reveled in the texture of the bark. It kept your mind grounded, rough and captivating, and kept any additional tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry in front of anyone. You couldn't.

You need to be strong, keep your chin up. Relying on other people would only get you into more problems.

As darkness fell, you couldn't be sure how long you'd been out wandering the woods. That didn't matter, though. Nobody would wait up for you. Nobody needed you. Going home just meant having somewhere to be during the night. It just ensured you had a roof over your head until you could race off to school in the morning. Most afternoons you spent working at the library shelving books. Hopefully work tomorrow would give you a little reprieve from your thoughts. Until then, it was time to go home, time to rest and attempt to silence your screaming mind.

You made your way back to the edge of the rickety fence, stealing a breath before stepping back inside the enclosure of your childhood. Usually you were greeted with relative quiet after a walk in the woods, returning late at night when most people had settled to their homes or were off spending late nights in the town.