Growing up, I was always the kid who knew all the answers but chanting frantically inside my head, “Don’t pick me, don’t pick me” when the teacher scanned around the classroom for an unwilling candidate to answer questions.
It must take so much desperation and trauma to radically transform such a kid into someone who no longer has a clue to what a right answer could possibly be. She now silently hopes, “choose me, please choose me.” Feeling like an unwanted pair of worn, torn shoes, she is never the chosen one.
This is what betrayal does to a person. It leaves a person broken beyond repair. The crave to be wanted grows to become an irrational fear. Everyone shuffles their priorities according to arising situations, and her strong personality often leads people to think that they don’t need to make her the priority and she would understand.
She understands, she always does, but like the learned helplessness, she stops hoping and just assumes to be unimportant. She left a bag full of food and strategies for the people who have betrayed her, so that they could restart their lives and hopefully never to repeat the mistake. They left her worse than they had found her, and they grabbed the bag and left.
She is strong, so everyone thinks. She wants to be strong too, for people who care about her. She hums a sad tune in the dark, and the sun rises the next day. The melancholic melody echoes in the night; and forgotten at first light of the day. Life goes on, and no one knows who hummed the sad, long tune.