I can see souls. Not aura or whatever else the media tells you is around but souls. The souls of those tormented, those of the joyful, the ones who kill for fun, the ones who kill for survival, those who persevere lives, and those who've no clue what's going on. And the souls of those that are shattered.
Souls are like a stained glass window. Slowly, pain stakingly being pieces together. And I've seen many. But none quite like my own. A light shines through each one. Most of the time. Even the depressed and psychopaths have a light shining through their souls. The ones who don't are consumed by despair. Those souls don't have the will to live or die, the hope or hate to keep going or end it all. I've only seen a few of those. Mine is in that group. Kinda hard not to be in that group when your so-called family hates you and made you feel like the biggest burden in the world. Called you a lair, expensive, annoying, bitch, fuckhead, idiot, and all other kinds of names no child should have to hear from their mother or siblings. Or father of you have one of those. My soul looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it and dropped pieces as I floated through life. My colors are also dull. Grey and brown. Even the psychopaths have better colors than I do. And the colors all mean something.
Gold is for joy and happiness and physical pleasure. Blue is for sadness and other things like that, yellow for contentment, red for anger, brown for hatred. Green for disgust or jealousy. Purple of hopeful or excited. Dark gray for self loathing, grey for despair, and white for nothing. I'm mostly in the grays, browns, and white area. Shots of the occasional gold from when I was very little and blue, but both are so small they may as well not be there. I'm missing pieces as well and my light's gone.
My darkness is probably my doing. I mean that's what my family told me. After they called me worthless, hated, lair, and other horrible things. But they were the only constant in my life. I couldn't lose that no matter how damaging it was to me. What was I supposed to do? My support system was, is, almost non existent. And I've always been lost, while seeing my family's souls filled with both good colors and dark ones. I sigh.
My colors and light have been getting better which is sad. Most people have the light dim for a long while after they move out their parents houses. But mine get better. Is it because I'm free? I blame myself for everything that happened to me and when I'd lash out at my family. They would return tenfold each time but it'd do nothing to me but shatter my soul a little more. I'm lost in the journey we call life.
And most people have a soul that fits like a puzzle piece to other people. Not a soul mate but someone that a higher power has made for them whether that's family, a lover, a child, a best friend, or other. It's odd but beautiful.
Merci pour la lecture!
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