The Girl Who Lived in Shadows

 The Girl Who Lived in Shadows

It had always seemed to Zamil that she was a ghost living in her own body. Not literally, but in the manner she went about the world without being seen or heard. The bright colors of life looked muted to her from an early age, and the joy that others found so effortlessly was a language she could never understand. She felt that she was solely to blame for the silent tension and unspoken despair that pervaded her home. She discovered how to minimize her size, occupy as little room as possible, and never make a sound.



Her environment consisted of long, deserted hallways and quiet rooms. She was a shadow in the back of the classroom at school; her voice was never heard, and her hand was never raised. She observed other females laughing, exchanging secrets, and making plans for bright futures. While she was stuck in a never-ending gloom, Zimal perceived them as individuals living in a world of sunshine. Every breath was difficult because of the despair, which was like a thick blanket and a continual weight on her chest. It informed her that there was no use in even looking for a way out, that she was a burden, and that she was unlovable.



She had forgotten what it was like to be without despair since it was so ingrained in her. A familiar agony that she had learned to accept as her normal state, it was like a second skin. She longed for the agony to end, but she didn't want to cease living. The more depressed she felt, the more she believed the lies it whispered to her, and the more she believed the lies, the lower she fell. It was a vicious cycle.



She happened upon a book one day while she was sitting in the library. It wasn't a tale of a great adventure or a miraculous escape. Among the personal writings in the collection was one titled "A Note to My Former Self." The girl the author wrote about felt exactly like Zimal, a girl who had once thought she was doomed. Zimal sensed a fissure in the wall of her loneliness as she read. Her innermost pains, worries, and unsaid thoughts were all expressed in the words on the page. The author explained the gradual, excruciating process of learning to speak, to seek assistance, and to be seen.



There was no tidy, pleasant ending to the story. The author did not claim that the hopelessness was permanently gone. Rather, she described it in her writing as a shadow that was a little further behind her yet still followed her. She talked about discovering little moments of brightness, like a quiet song that spoke to her heart, the warmth of the sun on her skin, or a kind word from a complete stranger. She described the bravery required to seek out those moments and hold on to them, one by one.

Zimal's hands were shaking as she closed the book. She had felt something other than sorrow for the first time in a long time. Not yet, it wasn't hope. In the huge, black void, it was more akin to a flicker, a little spark. It was the start of a new tale, one that was not about a girl who was so hopeless but rather about a girl who was gradually and arduously discovering her own light.