Drained

I drink in the world. Moment by moment I soak it all in through the wounds it has given me. I see the world like a passer by sees someone else’s life. I am always looking in. I see the pain. I see the happiness. I see the anger in every one else. I sit on the sidelines to watch how their life plays out. It could be me avoiding my own stage, but I would rather watch someone else’s success than my own. I would rather listen to their voices than have one of my own. A long time ago, mine was stolen. Stolen by the ones that caught my words as they crossed the threshold of my lips into the frozen air. They held them in their palms as they decided whether to warp them to their benefit or to crush them into nothing more iportant than the dust settling on your picture frame. You have given me a reason not to be a reason. I only gave you the most beautiful words that my mouth could form in hopes that they would heal the wounds on your skin. The wounds that only turned out to be a reflection of my own. You projected my pain onto your body because you knew I could not avoid the attempt to heal. I gave myself, all of myself, away. To the many that could not fill themselves. Now I am left with the draining effects. Their is no more love to distribute nor feelings to play host for an unwelcome heart. I gave you mine to be an additional link on the chains binding yours together. By the time I realized that I was only giving you the armor to  shield yourself you had already begun to scavenge through my body’s foundation brick by brick. I gave myself to you and you only kept taking.

Relapse

Its presence haunts me. Like the wounds it causes. Every move you make is a reminder of its company. I have not looked at it for a very long time. For the last time I did, it almost cost me my life. The weight of it stings my skin with just the thought. I have not looked at it in a very long time but for some reason I cannot let it go. I picture it my head resting in the small container holding it. Confining its power so it cannot weild me. But still, my mind is constricted with the thought. Darkness spilling out of gaping veins that it has yet to open. My body shakes with the expectance of what might happen if my head cannot resist the thought of its cold touch. The same cold touch that freezes everything with in me. The same cold touch that causes me to solidify like a sculpture made of ice, shattered with a simple touch, that melts from its fractures. My eyes cannot shift from the memories it has left on my body. My fingers run over the white lines and I read their stories like brail. There is a feeling of absence when their is no irritated lines to break up the picture. There is a feeling of emptiness when there is numbness in the skin that is a product of my past. There is and urge to reach for the light that reflects off of it. But my skin begins to itch because it knows what is coming. My eyes fill with the clouds I have stolen from the sky to fill my soul and I can no longer see the outline of my own hand. My body fights the war that I have put it through. Though it knows that when the battle begins my mind will win. This is not a beautiful story. This story ends in blood soaked soil drowning me when I cross the battlefeild. This story is not beautiful. Because my body’s screams are like the screaching of tires across the hard asphalt. My sunken in cheeks consume the rest of my face. My feet refuse to carry a cavernous body that has become a home for the mosters within it. I am fighting against my own body and we all know what that leads to. No metaphor can make that hole 6 feet deep any prettier than the insects already decorating its walls.

Investing

I have been reading a lot lately. It is always a bad idea. You see, when I read books I get it this terrible mood that leads to me sinking back into that endless abyss. Books are supposed to be an escape right? Well, that is what it is for me, but only for a little while. I become so invested in the story. I feel everything the character is feeling as if I am them as if I am experiencing everything they are. I become so invested that I cannot think of anything else. My mind can only focus on the story and the emotions of this book. While I am reading the book, it isn’t such a bad thing, but when the book ends so do I. I am left empty because the book drained me of all feeling. I don’t think it would be so bad but I have realized that I feel. I feel so hard and with everything I have. I hurt myself because I feel everything so damn much. I am drained of everything I am and it is kept in little places of my life that I can never reach. I think that is the biggest thing people do not understand about me so they don’t know how to treat me. That is why am always the one that ends up hurt in the end.

Miserable Moments

They asked me how I felt.

I said fine.

Little did they know

there were demons inside my mind.

I want to break my ribs and rip my heart from my chest and bury it so deep that it will not be able to feel the people walking over it. I want to plunge a knife into my chest and rip it down to release all the demons trapped within me. I want to open my veins and drain them of the darkness running through my blood. I want to take a gun to my head and feed the demons the only thing they are begging for.  My mind is not a safe place and if I shared that with you, you would never look at me the same. I know what to say and exactly when to say it in order to please people. I have plastered a smile on my face so that no one would guess otherwise. They will never see a side of me that I do not want them to see. I am alone. For now, I am good with that.

Settling

I am trying to be Happy. I am trying so hard, but there is some caged animal that tries to climb up my throat every time I smile. Happiness is not a realistic goal. Well, it seemed like it was until I found that it seemed like no one around me wanted to be happy. When you show the slightest sign of light they rip it away hoarding it like it was never yours to begin with. How can you be happy when all of it is being sucked out of you. It should not be so exhausting to be happy. Change your attitude, smile more, act like it is all okay. If you are not happy, act like you are. Only then will it come. Even then, I am struggling to hold my head above water. My limbs are getting tired and I am losing strength. I try so damn hard to be happy. It is hard enough for myself why do I have to make everyone else happy too? I am exhausted. Maybe I will settle with the sun from the sea floor.

Afraid of Me

I wish I could take in the little moments of release again…like I used to. My entire body is tense. I shake like I overdosed on caffeine. Still, I cannot relax. I soon as I get the chance I feel guilty. Should I feel Guilty? Something keeps eating away at my soul and I am losing myself. Forgetting who I used to be. Forgetting the happy I used to feel. What is happening to me? I am eternally exhausted and I am afraid you can see it from the outside. I am afraid I might treat them different because I am different. I don’t want to hurt them. They deserve so much more. They all do. Am I worth this pain. Is life worth this pain. I cannot breathe anymore. Someone has reached into my chest and is pulling at everything there. Why? Why can I not stop them? Why am I still here? I am not afraid of them…I am afraid of me.

Reaction

I have been walking around like a zombie. No facial expressions to be the tell for what is going on in my head. Even if I tried, I could not make any expressions for not even I know what is going through my head. I have been so angry and upset, mostly toward myself, but I have absolutely no idea how to fix it. I wish humans were like cars. We could just pop open the top of our skulls and fix whatever is wrong. Alas, we remain a mystery, even to ourselves. I am not quite sure who I am anymore. Interestingly enough, I do not expect to see what I do in the mirror when I look. I do not see me. I see a stranger attempting to convince me of her innocence. I do not know how to react to anything anymore. I am not even sure of the things I enjoy anymore. I guess now is as good as time as any for an existential crisis. In four months my life will change forever and I am not sure if I will be able to adapt. My mind has become so separate from my body, I am not sure of anything anymore.

A Letter To Him Who Didn’t Mean To Set Me Free

The pleasure of moving on is unexplainable. it is so unbelievably satisfying. I had thought I had moved on from things in my past, but when you messaged me saying you had feelings for me, that I realized what moving on was. I no longer have feelings for or even toward you. I have never been more happy in my life. I was a sleeping hopeless drowning in my own sorrow. I think about the ones I have yet to move on from and I have realized moving on from you has given me the strength to move on from all of my past besides one person. I may never move on from him but there is always darkness when the light shines. Right in this tiny infinite moment, I am happy and cannot seem to focus on anything but good. For once I do not feel like the earth is moving and I am sitting still. I feel free. So thank you.

Monkey In the Middle

I am stuck in the middle looking out for everyone else. I am in the middle and no one is looking out for me. I am run over time after time like a dead animal on the side of the road nobody seems to notice. Huh. Dead. Death. I am dead inside and nobody cares enough to see. I am the watcher. No one will watch me. My life was made into existence for the sole reason of prolonging someone else’s. I now know the only emotions I will be facing is numbness in my attempts to avoid stressing my life to be a crutch for yours.

Just a Body

I haven’t been in this much pain in so long. I thnk I forgot what was actually like. Every single movement, every choice, every word, every thought dedicated to this pain. It is like I am just a hollow shell walking through the day while my mind is stuck somewhere else. I should not have let it get this far. I should have stopped it before it got this bad. It is all my fault. It always is and I cannot keep letting it happen. I run into one wall walk around it then run into another and decide to climb over that one. It just keeps getting harder. That fall off the top of the wall just seems to hurt more each time. My chest feels hollow. It is so hard to breath. I need a reason and I cannot seem to find one. I am forever caught in a hopeless loop of self-torture and self-loathing. I am eternally running from myself.