Butterfly heart...

Only the doodle is mine tonight. The words, and wonderful words they are, belong to my 17 year old daughter, Holly. A talent already and something special in the making methinks - but then I would say that wouldn't I.

Have a read and see what you think, feel free to be honest - most of you are so discerning - and then let me know.

I only hope that the doodle lives up to her fantastic words.

Trust me. This ain't no teenage drivel.

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Butterfly heart.

Out of every inch of my body, the butterflies flew out. They swirled around me, the epitome of hope and freedom and peace. And I knew in that moment, that I had set myself free. Finally.

They had survived. I had survived. And now, they were here to help me, to lift me up in their flight, to save me. They forgave me, for every one of their sisters I had killed, for every broken promise. They forgave me when I could not. Their forgiveness was clear now, for all to see, it could not be denied, I could not be denied, and they were safe, I was safe. It was over, forever. I hope.

The first day the butterflies came to me was, perhaps, the first day I saw recovery. I thought I was going to die, and they knew that, they came to me in their hundreds, delicately encasing themselves in my body, trapping themselves by their own will for my safety, recovery, and hope. Where I was selfish, they were selfless and many of them sacrificed themselves for me. I cut them open one by one, until I feared there was none left, again I feared I would die, but their delicate hum kept my heart beating, it was as fragile as two butterfly wings desperately beating in a storm. I was the storm, and the butterflies couldn’t escape me, until I had escaped myself.

The delicate life inside me, longed for escape, for freedom. I would not allow it. Determined, I punished myself, day in and day out, never lapsing, never ending. I was a tower of strength, yet an empty shell, nothing but the butterflies to hold me up. And they did. No matter my crime, they never let me down, never gave up on me, where so many had, where I wished they would. How I wanted to collapse into the air, and be weighed down by the grit. I deserved it, didn’t I? Yet, not once did they let me, not once. They forced me to keep going, they were not weak, and they would not let me win.

It baffled me, how such delicate creatures could be so strong, when I, a million times their body weight, was fragile and falling apart. They carried me, when I could not carry myself and showed me how to function. They allowed me to carry on as normal, to fake a smile, a bounce in my step, everything anyone expected, I could do. I was a fake though, because that wasn’t me, all along it was the butterflies. I owed them so much, they were saving me. I owed them their lives.

It was inevitable that one day I would have to set them free, for neither of us could carry on like this. They were becoming weak. It was my turn to save them, I had gone on too long relying on them, I had killed too many of their sisters, I had to redeem myself; I had to be strong again. It wasn’t easy, I won’t pretend it was. Many times, I failed them, and they allowed me to. They didn’t hold it against me, they gave me the grace to try again. Try and try I did. I learnt, slowly, to focus not on the turmoil of myself, but of the delicate beating of my heart, of the butterfly wings, and slowly I became calm. When that didn’t work, I learnt to draw the butterflies all over me, so I could see my saviours, so I would have to watch myself kill them, so it was real. The guilt would be too much, and I would watch the butterflies move around my body instead. Soon, the pain became less and less, until it had gone away altogether, almost. The butterflies sensed this, they saw me becoming strong and they knew I could hold myself up.

So, we’re back here. With the butterflies, ripping me open, and filling me with life, as they fly away. They’re not abandoning me, I know, they’ll be back as soon as I need them, should I ever. I’m determined I won’t, to show them ultimate gratitude and stay fixed. I’m strong now. One by one, they fly out of my window, into the real world. Free, brave and full of hope. I know I must follow them. I know it’s time to live. They saved my life and now it is mine to live.

Yet one butterfly remains, delicately beating. The wings are keeping my body alive; my heart.