Cocoon (monologue)

'Cocoon'

My 'Aunt Flo' didn't come that month, that's when I knew. It was my
older sister who told me the code name for 'that time of the month.'
When you're young, innocent I guess, you get embarrassed about these
things; you're too young to understand what it's all about. Things
change.

I think of life as an image. It's better that way; things don't get
confused. They used to label me as quiet but conscientious. Inside it
made me want to scream, they didn't know. I couldn't keep it up; things
always blow up in the end.

You begin life as a caterpillar, grounded, limited movement; the wide
world is not fully visible. You're past is nothing but a blank sheet of
paper, the purest white. As a young child you progress to a cocoon,
safe from the cruel world, oblivious to the darkness that exists. I
wish I had never broken out.

I remember the day when you sat me down and explained to me 'the facts
of life.' I turned away, cheeks flushed, tried to block it out. The
first stain on the white paper was almost visible; I was a butterfly,
lost to the outside world.

My teacher used to say to us, 'Don't judge a book by its cover.' I
never really understood the truth in that statement until it became
reality for me in more ways than one.

I'm sorry, I am so sorry. You don't know what I'm talking do you? I
don't even understand myself but I know I'm sorry.

I like to escape sometimes. I can't anymore. It was a sunny day, I
remember. We were lying on the luscious green grass tanning ourselves.
My sister taught me how to escape. It was before she left. She told me
to close my eyes tight, breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.
Think of a happy memory and pull it back, clasp it in your hands and
don't let go. Take yourself there, you are not here anymore. The
trickle of clear, cool water splashing at my hot, dusty feet. Sun
beating down, muffled laughter, the sound of happy chattering somewhere
near by. There, I am there. Not any more.

I don't know what happened but it did. I was a butterfly, a fresh and
beautiful butterfly; I had wings, I could fly, I flew, I didn't look
down. Why didn't I look down? Why didn't I look at the empty cocoon
left behind me? But I had broken out; I was free. The paper began to
loose its purity, the dirty stains marred its innocence but they didn't
see it.

I was two in one, I was pure and dirty, I was that book, I could no
longer tell reality from fantasy. I told you that you wouldn't
understand. The second person was always there, they existed in my
head, they wanted to break out but they couldn't, I wouldn't allow it.
They could do what they liked in my head. I wanted to be them. They
screamed to be let out. I don't exactly know when but somewhere,
sometime my reality and fantasy got mixed up; they were free, they were
out of control. I've hurt you, I'm sorry.

Then it happened. If I occupied myself with other things 'it' was no
longer there. I tried to escape to the secret place but when I closed
my eyes at night I could hear the pounding heart, I could see his face.
I hated them. Sometimes the noise got too much, I had to stop it.

I read 'The Great Gatsby' once. It scared me. 'Bang!' They couldn't
stay out of control forever; they couldn't do what they wanted. I told
them but they wouldn't listen, they had gone too far. The reality
collided with the fantasy, 'Bang!'

It wasn't meant to be the way it was, it was nothing like I had been
told. My innocence was lost. Taken. I tried to stop it. I longed to
turn back to the cocoon but I had flown too far; the paper was too
dark, my fantasy had crashed, the butterfly had fallen; the party was
dead. He was too strong; I was too weak. He left 'it' inside me; I hate
'it'. 'It' was a broken piece of reality that couldn't be fixed.

I'm sorry, you hate me, I'm sorry. Please understand. It wasn't my
fault. I didn't invite 'it' in, 'it' planted itself there; 'it' used
me. I asked 'it' to leave but 'it' wouldn't listen. 'It' screamed at
me, 'it' killed my fantasy, I couldn't forget. It's my fault.

'It's' gone now, I made 'it' leave. I couldn't stand the noise any
more. 'It' kept me awake at night. They came back though.

I had a dream. I looked back. I saw the past. I saw what the paper used
to look like, innocence; I saw it again. I saw your eyes, they were red
raw with tears. You stared at me, your gaze fixed. I screwed up my eyes
and waited for the anger, the bang that I was used to. It didn't come.
You said nothing. You were so far away, so far behind, so far below. I
tried to scream the words 'I'm sorry' but nothing came out, I tried to
turn back but my wings were broken.

I am being punished for what I did; I've been locked up with them.
However much I try, I can't escape; they are always with me. I can't
break out.

Sometimes people try and get in, they try and they try but the walls
are too strong- they give up and leave me alone with 'them' again. I'm
sorry. It's my fault.

Why? I don't understand. You stretched out your arm, further and
further, closer and closer until I could touch your fingers. Slowly you
opened your hand. I stared, skipped a breath, my heart ached. You took
my hand, my dirty, filthy hand in yours. Inch by inch you pulled me
back, you took me out of there until I could see you. You repaired my
broken wings and let me fly again. This time I won't stray too far,
this time I won't stop looking back, this time I won't forget the empty
cocoon left behind. Will I?