To "put something to bed" means to put it to rest, to not talk about it
any longer. This implies that the thing is allowed to rest, or can rest
at all. If the thing has insomnia, or is restless, or makes to torment
you, it will never sleep. Or, it may pretend to sleep, but stand over
you and weigh you down while you sleep. Some people bend until they
break in two--others, they simply shatter. See, breaking in two is far
more economical. You can glue yourself together without much hassle. But
shattering? That requires a full replacement. You'll lose pieces
quickly, revealing the sensitive material underneath, something that is
easily damaged by a wayward touch, even if it's out of affection. See?
It weighs you down. And you don't need more weight, do you?
"There is a Quichua riddle: El que me nombra, me rompe. Whatever names me, breaks me. The solution, your course, is "silence." But the truth is, anyone who knows your name can break you in two." - In the Dream House, Carmen Maria Machado
I give my sympathies to the child that has nothing to their name and
whose name means nothing to them, and has no one they can confide in--I,
too, was that child, and many times I'd wake with a wet pillowcase where
my eyes would have been. See, I was surrounded by people who clamoured
and claimed they had my best interest in mind, but it was all a game to
them, where I was the most valuable pawn. I was required. I was an
asset. Not easily replaceable, but not in a timeless photograph or
family heirloom way--more like an expensive piece of furniture or
stocks. That feeling made me isolate from them whenever possible, even
if they were truthful in their cherishing of me. I stayed away, far, far
away.
"When I get bigger, big enough to go somewhere by myself, I want to go to a land that's far away. I want to go to a faraway island. I want to go to an island that has no people. I want to go to an island that has no pain or sadness. On that island, I can climb a tree when I want to climb, swim in the sea when I want to swim, and sleep when I want to sleep. When I think about the town without me, I feel a sense of relief. I want to go far, far away." - Kayo Hinazuki, Erased
In the eye of that haunted child, they want to believe that everyone who
has done them wrong will eventually come around and say sorry,
because they are taught that an apology will absolve all the hurt. But
if life were that simple, there wouldn't be nearly as much pain in the
world as there is, as "sorry" would become a daily word: a "sorry"
before the peahen you eat for dinner, a "sorry" for the insect you trod
upon, a "sorry" for the cousin you cross, a "sorry" for the God you
abandon. But as they wait for the pain to dissolve, or perhaps worse, as
they wait for the "sorry" they'll never get, they begin to fade away.
Their spirit is replaced by the haunting. It eats them up from the
inside and outward, until their own face cannot be recognized in the
mirror, until they pray to wake up as someone else entirely--or, pray to
never wake.
"[...] and my baby girl, playing telephone with a conch shell, warned you never to set foot in this house again." - Rachel McKibbens, "Bon Dieu"
The truth is that the child just wishes to be in control of their own
life, a fate that everyone wants. It's why they all beg to grow up so
quickly, because growing up means you can do more things on your own and
you're trusted to do those things. As a child, you're not trusted, and
often not believed enough. Cast aside as another "seen, not heard" case.
The child will cling to imaginary friends, to plush creatures magicked
to life, to their shadow on the floor, and speak to them instead. The
walls of your child's house will have thousands of stories you'll never
hear, thousands of memories you'll never experience. The blessings will
leak through the cracks, only the root of the pain will remain, and you
will deal with the consequences.
"I know I'm not my thoughts, my thoughts don't know that yet / Sometimes I try to sneak up on the voice inside my head / I've tried to meditate, they tell me it'll help / But the last thing I need's more time alone" - Icon For Hire, "Hollow"
That child grows and realizes the world around them, the world they'd
harbored for so long to be a good place, is not all good. And they begin
to see more negatives than positives--regardless of the balance or
imbalance--and it reflects on their faces, blank like canvas, blank like
glass. The mind becomes blank. The hands become blank, the fingerprints
no longer leave any marks, like thick gloves were glued over them. Like
a walking advert for taking care of local environments--"take only
pictures, leave only footprints"--but those, too, are gone. There are no
photos of them, the smile has disappeared. There are no footprints left
in the sand and mud, like they float above it. Now, repeat the mantra
after me: I am that child.
"Your riches have rotted and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and consume your flesh like fire." - James 5:2-3
If you think you can close the wound as an adult--think again, is all I
can say. You'd have an easier time passing a camel through the eye of a
needle. That pain remains, it festers and growls within, and when you're
at your lowest, it comes out and barks at anyone daring to come near.
And no matter how many times you try to kill this beast (you have
tried killing it, right?) it has attached itself to your arteries, it
has latched onto the spinal column, and every cut is a risk that no
surgeon is willing to take. But if you'd like to try, I'll gladly watch.
I'll watch in silence as it all spills on the floor. Will it consume
you? Or will you consume it first? And if you do eat it, will it grow
inside again?
...Do you want to find out?