Battle scarred but unbroken

Battle scarred but unbroken I was captive in a silent war. My body, the battlefield. A quiet siege waged beneath my skin, where cells divided and uncertainty grew. This body, once solely mine, reduced to flesh, marked like a map, etched by others’ plans, endlessly examined, poked and prodded. An invisible war raging on, masked as protocol, disguised in scans and tests,biopsy reports, surgical cuts and stitches. Each treatment discussed in circles, answers spoken in riddles, soft, clinical daggers, deafening words that pierced: “We cannot confirm,” “We are not sure,” “We need another opinion,” “Let’s wait and see.” I was stuck, treading water in seas that had swallowed others,?wearing exhaustion like a second skin. My body had stayed afloat, but my mind had drifted endlessly. Autonomy, the silent sacrifice, carrying a weight that shook my soul. Signing papers with trembling hands, trusting words I didn’t understand, while the mantra played on repeat: “It will all be okay. You’ve got this.” While love and support surrounded me, fear was woven into my breath, moving silently through my veins. This tireless holding of the sword, the desire to remove the armour I was never meant to carry, longing for the words: “No further treatment necessary.” “You are done.” “Everything is normal now.” I was holding myself in pieces, longing to feel whole, to feel pretty, To stop dreaming of escaping the tirade my world had been thrown into, To be back living. Battle-scarred but unbroken Mockingbird 31-07-2025