The infractus pectus of yours sincerely

It took me a few days to realize that what I was experiencing was the common human fragility of infractus pectus.

I had been angry with the world for two days, avoiding the news for three and had just this night awoken four times, equally sweating and fearful. The fourth time I stayed awake and wondered what the fear was for. I already knew what had happened, I already knew that she had lost her leg. She was alive, thank God, but they had taken her leg and there was no coming back from that. Pondering those facts over and over it struck me that the fear was not for her's, nor my own sanity. It was for the acceptance of reality. And as such the solution to my situation had presented itself. I had to keep my distance for now and for ever. 

Once again I had smarted myself out of a painful time, and keeping distance was by five minutes already my favorite defense mechanism of choice. How could I go wrong if I merely stayed away? I could not.

At this hour, 08:41 PM, I have kept my distance for nearly 16 hours and, my, have it been some 16 hours. Until dinner I had not spoken a word to anyone, as I find being hurt is easier when you're on your own. However I decided to unlock my lips and involve my dear parents at the dinner table and it felt wonderfully freeing until my mother dismissed my infractus pectus as hilarious and out of terms. I clammed up, having been stung by my own stupidity of revealing my innermost feelings. My defense mechanism evolved. What had previously only been distanced was now also being silenced. 

With all this in mind I went into the bathroom a good fifteen minutes ago. I covered the floor and sink, I did not want to make a mess of everything. Once I had found my girl scout knife from way back, I carved through my thorax like had it been butter and cut out my heart. Still beating I put it in a jar and placed it in my cupboard. I find the beating sound soothing, it keeps my mind off things and missing legs.

Yet it is only as I sit here, back against the wall, in the very last resort of my bed that it appears to me; 

I might never truly recover from this.