one day, i put on a shirt.
i really liked this shirt. it suited me perfectly and had this really cute design i was obsessed with. once i put it on, i never wanted to take it off.
but i noticed a small thread hanging off the seam.
i tried not to let it bother me.
i ignored it, until it unraveled a bit more and i couldn't any longer.
i tugged at it, just a bit,
but it kept unraveling.
i tried to wrap it around my finger and rip it off for good, but no matter how hard i tried, i just couldn't.
i pulled and pulled until it dug into my finger a little bit, and the pain was sharp but faded quickly. so i decided to give it a rest.
over time, i would keep trying to rip the thread off with my finger, but each time hurt worse and worse so i eventually just gave up.
it's now been 3 years and i no longer have a shirt. just a small piece of cloth with a very long thread attached to it. but it's the only shirt i own now, so i wear it anyway. it's gotten me this far, been here every step of the way, even if it hasn't helped me much i still need it to get through each day. what am i gonna do, just not wear a shirt?
and when i think about the shirt, i think about when i first put it on, and how amazing i felt. and i think about every little thing this shirt has done for me, every time it's made me feel better on a shitty day.
so who am i to give up on it now?
i know i could buy a new shirt. i know i could've gotten some scissors and cut that thread a long time ago.
the truth is, i don't fully understand why i hold onto it. much less why i keep wearing it every day. maybe i feel bad for it. maybe i just love it so much i can't seem to let go. deep down i know neither of these are true.
it's gotten to the point that i'm embarrassed of it. i start every interaction with each new person i meet like "hey, just warning you, my shirt is falling apart. it's barely even a shirt anymore" just to avoid future conversations about it.
but that's not how wearing a shirt should be, is it?
i should be proud of my shirt, showing it off to any and everyone and waiting for them to make comments about how nice it is, or how it fits my body perfectly.
maybe it's because of the way i was raised.
"don't throw that out" mom would say. "i will sew it back together" but she never once did. maybe it's because i spent my entire childhood holding onto broken things because they always came with empty, beautiful promises.
maybe it's because i feel strongly deep down that if i can somehow sew the shirt back together, it will be the most jaw dropping, eyebrow raising, stunningly beautiful shirt the world has ever seen. but this world has no thread.
no, if i want this shirt to ever be a shirt again, it will take sacrifice. i will have to use my blood veins as thread, my bone splinters as a needle. i truly don't know if i could survive it. i want to try, but my instincts kick in and stop me, and i feel so stupid for even wanting to try in the first place. i mean, just get a new shirt, right? even if i can't bring myself to get a new one, at least throw out the one that exposes me and makes me smell bad. but no matter how hard i try, i can't bring myself to get rid of this nasty, dingy piece of cloth.
so here i am, caught in this never ending nightmare.
i know, soon i will wake up. now it's just a piece of thread; any day now it will snap.
but i'm so terrified of the uncertainty of what comes after.
