It Is What It Is

Trigger Warnings: alludes to rape, mental health issues

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"It is what it is..." She mutters to herself as tears stream silently down her face, once again feeling that ache...that emptiness...that always accompanies the feelings of self-doubt and hatred when she fucks something up. "Born with one foot in the grave, dealt a headman's hand, and went all in on something I should have done small bets on..." She shakes her head, a deadened laugh escaping from her lip.

"It is what it is..." A repeated litany as she sips her coffee while she compartmentalizes everything that happened. Some of it is physically compartmentalized, to pull out for a rainy day. The rest is put away into mental compartments, though, this time...

Her coffee is on the bitter side today, which is fine, because she's feeling bitter with herself. Thirty-three years old, and just now discovering that she doesn't know how to separate love from lust. A bitter laugh follows the coffee, because she choked on it a bit. "It is what it is..." The bitterness in the coffee makes the non-dairy creamer she uses slightly off putting, but she drinks it regardless. She has, after all, been up since one in the morning.

She blinks, and looks up at the wall, thinking. That can't be right, can it? But it is. She's been awake since one in the morning. With a huff, she sucks down some water, knowing that today is going to be exceedingly tiring...and she's already suffering from acute dehydration sickness. Shit she's dealt with her whole life, and knows is genetic, thanks to her drug addict parents.

She shakes her head frantically, trying to close that box. Only able to close is as she puts her focus on the box that won't close. She is in her head now, but also in the real world. This box. This strange, glided box, that, if looked at closely, is tarnished in spots that are typically missed, because if you set something on a shelf and forget to look at it, to clean it...

In her head, she circles the box, head tilted in curiosity. The right side of her mouth tugs up in a grin, as she reads something that makes her smile. "Curiosity killed the cat," she says, as she remembers that she has to put something somewhere else. "But satisfaction brought it back." If she had a tail, it would definitely be a cat's tail...and the very tip of it would be twitching.

How...? How can this hurt so much, and yet feel so good at the same time? To feel empty and full at the same time? And then, as always with her brain, one question leads to another, and another and another...

She shakes her head again, trying to keep herself focused on one thing, but failing because ADHD sucks...especially when you couple it with autism. Was that why? And the cycle begins again. She just wants it to be quiet in her head for a couple hours.

She had found it and fucked it up. That's what had happened. The reason why she had stayed single for so long. Trying to find that missing something that fit in that one spot.

"Focus dammit..." She mutters, taking another sip of her coffee. It's cold now, the taste somehow worse. It'll be time for cold brew soon. Though...maybe she should just cut the coffee out...

She laughs, knowing that small addictions are better than larger ones. She's had a lifetime of knowledge to know to keep that little gem in a place where she can easily pluck it up, a reminder of when she was a gambling addict at the age of 21. She tucks it away again, her lips ticking downward as the memories that accompany that gem darken it for just a moment, before she closes the box and puts it back.

She turns back to the gilded box, while on the outside, she listens and learns. Something she was taught by her dad, while he taught her how to hunt. Be quiet, watch, and listen. It's a secret, just between the two of us, so you mustn't tell anyone else...

This time she growls audibly, annoyed how this one pretty little box can pull so many things to the surface at once. She's also pleasantly surprised as things that she had forgotten she liked were brought to the surface. Things that make her bite her lip, and squirm as she remembers all those who never, EVER, made her feel this good. This wanted. This...full...

She tips her head back with a laugh, the earlier tears gone, as if a half-forgotten memory. No, this was one box she didn't want to close. In fact, she wanted to put things in it. This wasn't a box to shove things into and forget about. Oh no. This was a toy box, full of promise and hope.

Pandora's Box.

"It is what is it," she says as she looks over the plethora of boxes that she still has to go through, a lopsided grin spreading across her face. "But it doesn't have to be, and as a writer, I know that the start to a new story is just a page turn away."

She finishes her coffee, cold and bittersweet though it may be, because she knows that life can be bitter. She also knows life can be sweet. Most importantly of all though, she knows that life is too short not to take what is freely given, even if it means having to get on your knees to beg for forgiveness.