Bunny

A Curious Invitation

Dear Reader, my name is Samantha Heather Mackey, but you can call me Sam. If you're wondering how this note found its way to you, let's just say it's because we share a connection, one that's woven from the thread of being utterly, hopelessly different.

Yes, you and I, we're not like everyone else, are we? I used to think that being an outsider at Warren University, nestled in the New England hills, was a curse. I was surrounded by the Bunnies, a clique of eerily perfect girls from my MFA program who seemed to move and breathe as one.

They were a blend of sweetness and malice, living in a world I couldn't access. But then, they invited me to join their "Smut Salon," and my world tilted on its axis.

It was like falling down a rabbit hole into a place both enchanting and dangerous. I want to tell you about the intoxicating power of wanting to belong, about the seductive pull of being seen.

But beware, dear reader, for the price of admission to a world that's not your own is steep, and it can strip you of your very essence. You've felt it before, haven't you? That longing gaze towards a circle of laughter you're not a part of, the ache of an inside joke that flies over your head.

It's human to desire acceptance, to want to wrap yourself in the warm cloak of community. But at what cost? As I take you by the hand and lead you through my memories, I ask you to keep an open heart, for within these tales are shadows of your own life.

The lessons I've learned are tender and raw, yet universal in their truths. And through my story, perhaps you may catch a glimpse of yourself, reflected in the depths of my experiences.

The Enchantment of the Bunnies

These Bunnies, they were like no one I'd ever met. Each one was a confection of pastel and perfection, with names that dripped like honey from their lips: Ava, Cupcake, Duchess, and Creepy Doll.

They called to me, "Samantha! Come, join us!" And I, like a moth to a flame, was drawn in. The allure was irresistible—a secret garden of friendship that I had never been invited to before.

I was a moth, yes, but in their world, I became a butterfly, my dull grays melting away into vibrant colors. But remember, dear reader, transformation is a double-edged sword.

As you navigate through your life, you'll encounter your own Bunnies, in many forms. They might not wear baby doll dresses or speak in whispers that sound like chimes, but they'll beckon nonetheless with the promise of something you feel you're missing.

The allure of being a part of something, of metamorphosis into a 'better' version of yourself, it's tempting, isn't it? But ask yourself, as I had to, who defines what 'better' is? And what parts of yourself are you willing to trade in the pursuit of it? The Bunnies taught me about the artifice of kinship, the kind that's based on the condition that you fit into their mold. They showed me the intoxicating dance of friendship and manipulation, and how easy it is to lose your footing.

It's a dance you may know too well, one where the steps are not your own, but those dictated by the group's rhythm. As you twirl and sway, keep your eyes open, lest you trip and fall into a masquerade that's not your own.

The Smut Salon and Its Secrets

Oh, the Smut Salon. It sounds salacious, doesn't it? It was their monthly ritual, a gathering where the boundaries of reality and fantasy blurred into a heady mix.

There, stories were not just told; they were birthed into being, through a strange alchemy that the Bunnies wielded like modern-day witches. At first, I was mesmerized by the power of creation, the sheer force of their imagination that could conjure beings from thin air.

But with each tale spun, each creature brought to life, the veneer of glamour started to crack, revealing a darkness that clawed at my sanity. We all have our Smut Salons, don't we? Those spaces where we indulge in the forbidden, where we push the boundaries of what we know to be true and right.

You might not give life to your fantasies as the Bunnies did, but you dabble in the edges of your own darkness. It's thrilling, at first, to dance with the shadows, to play god in the realms of your mind.

But there's a cautionary tale here, whispered in the rustling of pages and the flicker of candlelight: when you tamper with the fabric of reality, be prepared for the universe to unravel. It's a seductive thought, to have the power to create and destroy with a mere thought or word.

But with each act of creation, I lost a piece of myself, a sliver of my soul that I couldn't quite grasp anymore. You've felt it, haven't you? That moment when you realize that in reaching for what you thought you wanted, you've let go of everything that truly mattered.

The Smut Salon was a cautionary tale, a mirror held up to my own desires and the cost they exacted. Be wary of what you summon, for it might just answer back.

The Descent into Madness

I confess, there came a point where I no longer recognized the reflection staring back at me. The Bunnies' world was a maze of mirrors, each turn revealing a more distorted version of myself.

My thoughts became a tangled web, a mix of my own and the whispered suggestions that slithered from the Bunnies' lips. I was losing myself, piece by piece, to a narrative I hadn't written.

And the madness, it beckoned with a siren's call, promising oblivion, promising release. Madness is not unique to me; it's a specter that haunts us all, lurking in the shadows of doubt and fear.

You've heard it too, the whispered doubts that tell you you're not enough, that you don't belong, that you should be someone else. It's easy to get lost in those whispers, to follow their lead down a spiral that ends in nothingness.

But even at the brink, there is a choice—to step back or to plunge into the abyss. I've peered over the edge, my dear reader, and I've felt the temptation to let go.

But here's the thing about descending into madness: it's not a solitary journey. We drag others down with us, often without realizing it.

Our actions ripple outwards, touching lives in ways we can't begin to comprehend. In my darkest moments, I saw the Bunnies not as tormentors, but as fellow travelers on this precarious path.

We were all lost in some way, seeking a beacon to guide us home. And perhaps, in recognizing our shared humanity, we can find a lifeline back to sanity.

The Fragmentation of Self

In the throes of my journey with the Bunnies, I shattered like a glass figurine, my sense of self scattered in a million sparkling pieces. The thing about fragmentation is that it's silent; you don't realize you're breaking until you're lying in pieces on the floor.

The Bunnies had their claws in me, and they pulled until I came apart at the seams. But amidst the wreckage, I found something unexpected—freedom.

There's a certain liberation in disintegration, a blank slate from which to rebuild. You, too, have felt fragmented, haven't you? Life pulls us in so many directions that we often feel like we're coming apart.

Jobs, relationships, expectations—they all tug at us until we're spread so thin we can barely recognize ourselves. But remember, dear reader, that in every ending there's a beginning.

In every break, there's a chance to mend stronger than before. It's not the breaking that defines us, but how we put ourselves back together.

The process of reassembling my identity was not swift, nor was it pretty. It was a puzzle where the pieces didn't quite fit anymore, because I was no longer the person I had been.

And that's okay. You don't have to be the same person you were yesterday or ten years ago.

Growth is not a linear path; it's a mosaic made of fragments of who you were, who you are, and who you will become. Embrace your own fragmentation as a sign of change, as the raw material for the masterpiece you're yet to create.

The Power of Storytelling

Throughout this ordeal, I discovered the profound power of storytelling. Stories were the Bunnies' weapons, their spells, their lifeblood.

And in my struggle to break free, I found my own voice. It was faint at first, drowned out by the cacophony of the Bunnies' narratives.

But as I pieced myself together, my voice grew stronger. I realized that my story, no matter how fractured, was mine to tell.

It was my magic, my power, my truth. Stories are the essence of humanity, the threads that bind us across time and space.

Your story, dear reader, is as powerful as any spell the Bunnies could weave. It's a narrative composed of your triumphs, your defeats, your love, and your loss.

Never underestimate the power you hold in narrating your life. Each word you speak, each choice you make, is a stroke of the pen on the canvas of the universe.

In telling my story, I found solace and strength. The act of sharing one's experience is both an unburdening and a connecting force.

It's a bridge between souls, a way to say, "I see you, I hear you, I understand." And in the sharing, there's healing.

As you walk through your life, remember to tell your story with courage, for in doing so, you not only reclaim your power, you offer a lifeline to others who may be adrift in their own tales.

The Emergence from Darkness

Emerging from the darkness of my time with the Bunnies was like the first breath after being submerged underwater. It was a rebirth of sorts, a damp and gasping return to a world that was the same, yet forever altered.

I emerged not as the girl they had sought to shape, but as a woman forged in the crucible of my own making. The pain, the confusion, the loss—they were the fires that tempered my spirit.

There is a resilience within you, too, dear reader. You've weathered storms, you've walked through fire, and you're here.

The darkness you've faced, the nights you've spent wondering if the dawn will ever come, they are the very things that have crafted you into the magnificent being you are. Don't shy away from your past, from the darkness that has touched your life.

Instead, embrace it as the contrast that makes the light within you shine all the brighter. In my emergence, I found that the world was waiting for me, ready to welcome the person I had become.

It's waiting for you, too. There is beauty in the aftermath, in the quiet that follows the storm.

There's a stillness that allows you to hear the rhythm of your own heart, a rhythm that guides you towards a future you get to write. Step into your emergence with the knowledge that every scar is a testament to your survival, every tear a jewel in the crown you wear with quiet dignity.

The Invitation to You

And now, dear reader, I extend to you an invitation, not unlike the one the Bunnies gave to me. It's an invitation to dive into my story, to swim in the depths of my experience, and to emerge with a new understanding of your own journey.

As you've walked alongside me through these words, know that our stories are intertwined, that the lessons I've learned are reflections of your own path. Life is a series of invitations—some lead us astray, others guide us home.

But each one is an opportunity to learn, to grow, to become who we're meant to be. As you face your own Bunnies, your own Smut Salons, and your own darkness, remember that you hold the power to write your ending.

You are the hero of your story, the master of your fate, the captain of your soul. My tale is but one of many, a single thread in the tapestry of life.

But if you've found a kinship in my words, if you've seen a glimmer of yourself in my story, then I've fulfilled my purpose. And if you're curious to delve deeper into the strange and transformative world I've navigated, I invite you to seek out the original book "Bunny" by Mona Awad.

It's a masterpiece that will enthrall you, challenge you, and perhaps even change you. Within its pages, you'll find more than just a story; you'll find a mirror into your own soul.

So, dear reader, as we part ways, take with you the wisdom that has been hard-won, the courage that has been forged in the fires of trial, and the knowledge that your story is just beginning. Embrace your journey with open arms, for it is yours and yours alone.

And always remember, within you lies the power to endure, to become, to transcend. With all my heart and all my scars, Samantha Heather Mackey