“What’s the worst that could happen? Seriously.”
“I could live a comfortable and fulfilling life.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I. I think I’m addicted to the struggle. It’s not worth it if I don’t have to work hard for it.”
“What if you’re working hard to keep from having it? So trapped within the narrative that you don’t deserve it that you expend all this energy to keep it at an arm’s length? What if it’s not that hard, but you putting up obstacles make it seem so?”
“Telling myself I deserve happiness isn’t the same as believing it.”
“There’s been a mixup. You’re not supposed to be here, living this life, at this moment. We apologize, you must be perfectly miserable.”
“I’m not sure what you’re on about, but I don’t see the issue. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m perfectly content.”
“Erm, according to my records, no, you are not.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, as I’m here, living this life and it’s good enough for me.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the issue. You don’t see. The worst part? You’ve blinded yourself. Time to wake up. You’ve been asleep far too long.”
Her sewing skills weren’t terribly impressive, but they were perfunctory enough for what she needed.
Clearing a space on the table, she set down everything she needed. With a very sharp and very clean knife, she sliced a hole in her chest, making a slit just wide enough for her fingers. Gently probing inside, she pulled out her heart, and set it in a pie plate.
She wrapped it carefully in velvety soft red fabric, creating a pocket which she sewed closed and reinserted the organ into her chest.
Now her heart could break without a single piece being lost.