…day three relentless and me shrinking under the onslaught, smaller smaller until I smell like nothing at all not even fear you could walk through me and not even know it now, though I would feel it. Years ago I had a voice, strong in the chorus of strong but someone I trusted browbeat the spectrum out of me, left me pale at the edge of translucency here with my belly clenched just make it stop.
This was a good while ago. Both colour and strength return, wages of the effort taken to understand how I ever got myself into that place, how to get myself out and fully reclaim the good plan I had.
I choose to keep part of me violet always. To remember so I never disappear again.
Bullies are violet, though they glow red and hard orange when on a rampage. Those they torment inherit violet from them like a virus. Shrinking, small, unimportant, voiceless, underserving, angry-but-gagged violet.
Beautiful humble fragile wise violet.
Remove the ‘n’ and it becomes a flower.
There is no worship of injury here, no victimhood. Violet is the fragile place from which courage rises. Inside the smallness is the will to turn and claim your own strength, no matter how loudly the monster rages.
There is a secret person undamaged in every individual. (PH Shepard)
Strength of violet. Walk softly with yourself.