Jean Wilkey

The Rope

by MEHRSA MASTOORI

I was in the darkness. It felt like I was inside a cold cage. In the dream, I was trapped and forced to live the same day over and over again. I felt a force pushing me down into the water, not allowing me to breathe. My eyes were open, but I could not see anything. I was blinded by darkness. I felt so cold — as if a thousand icy arrows were piercing my body. I could not move, breathe, or even blink. It was the same dream, one I had been having over and over again.

Another day. Another chance. When I wake up from this nightmare, I find myself thrown into real life again. But I know another chance will not necessarily bring me any joy. For some time now, my life has been just like the dream: I have been living the same horror every day. Lately, I have not been particularly eager to talk. I have just been waking up, sitting in bed, staring at the wall, and thinking: why me? Where is the girl who laughed so freely and danced so joyfully? She was a completely different person than I am now. The person I am now knows only one thing: she does not want to be here anymore.

Still, however hard it may seem, I know I need to keep up with life. No matter how fast I run to escape, life will always run faster. The hard part is pretending, sitting at the breakfast table, smiling, acting as if I enjoy the meal, talking about the news or weather, or my plans — things that do not have even an ounce of importance for me anymore. But even if I do not care about myself, I still care about my family. I do not want to drag them into this dark void. I know they feel something is wrong, but I don’t want to tell them what it is. After all, I have to deal with friends and co-workers who continually ask me what is wrong and how they can help.

The thing is: I don’t know the answer. I just put on a mask, pretend I’m the old me — someone who is a stranger to me now. I smile, nod, and say, “Don’t worry. I am fine, everything is fine.” I am getting good at lying; sometimes, I even convince myself that it is true. But the truth cannot be hidden for long, especially from oneself. I still hear that voice in my head saying, I don’t want to be here anymore.

These days silence is my best friend. Sitting alone at night in my room, I take off my mask. The darkness is like my dreams. The void gets larger and larger until it is big enough to devour me. I just let go of this world and the feeling of belonging to it. However strange it may seem at this point, the void feels more like home than anything else. I hear that voice in my head, I don’t want to be here anymore. What are you holding on to? Nothing matters. Just let go; it’s easier that way. But I dare not let go. I miss the old me and want her back. Even though all the strings that attach me to her are severed now, I keep trying to draw her back, even as the tears flood my face.

I don’t remember exactly when I fall asleep, but I when I wake up, I realize that I did not have the dream that’s been haunting me for months now! I notice that I feel different. There is a warmth in my body, not like a fever, but like the warm rays of sun when it dances on your skin! I notice colors, shapes — beauty! I begin to breathe more easily, as if no one is pushing down on my chest. Last night I had a new dream and it goes like this: I open my eyes and find myself in the middle of a jungle. There is a mirror. I stand in front of it and see myself in a white dress, with my hair curled in the most beautiful way and my cheeks blushing. I blink, and the reflection in the mirror changes. It is me in the mirror, but a tired, exhausted, emotionless version of me. The two “me’s” are the same age, but the tired version of me seems so much older. Tears are falling from her eyes. She seems so hopeless and desperate. I look into her eyes then decide to reach into the mirror and embrace her.

It is still nighttime, but I cannot go back to sleep. All I can do is sit on the edge of my bed, utterly amazed. For the first time in months, I’ve had a different dream, unlike any other dream I’ve ever had. As I think about it, I realize that the mirror in my dream was showing me who I was and also who I could be. For months I thought I was gone, dead inside, but now I know I was there. I understand now that the only one who can help me is the old me, and I see that the strings tying me to her are still there; in fact, they are as strong as a rope.