I have often been ensconced in the deep sea of depression and sorrow. But then, shades of purple encompass me and attempt to reshape each moment as it unfolds. There are purple hearts tatooed on my chest where I imagine my heart to be because it hurts there so much that I am sure it is cracked in too many places to count. One is lighter than the other one. One is lower, beneath. They are entwined. Symbolic and recalcitrant, I don't need to see them to know they are there. Just like I don't need a video tape of the atrocities that I suffered when I was a little girl to know they are there, real, in my memory. Pain etched on the underside of my skin itches relentlessly. I call it Fibromyalgia. I am tired. Anxiety washes over me in the large waves that recur in my nightmares. I am drenched in sweat and my heart is pounding. When I wake up I know it was only a dream....only a dream...only a dream. My dreams always mean something. They show me emotion in visceral real time. It stays with me all day daring me to confront it, challenge it, understand it. My reward, should I accept the challenge, is blessed sleep, blissful escape...flying above the pain and scanning below for the softest, purple-est place to land. Ensconced in purple pillows, clouds of healing warmth stretch out invitingly before me. One day at a time; one moment; one tear. For surviving in purple hearts is to heal that which someone else dared to smash....