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.
It’s like we never stopped talking. I never realized how much I missed you until I had you back. I have felt so broken for so long but for this moment, this moment talking to you, I feel whole. My life is a constant blur of unsure happenings that I cannot seem to get ahold of. But when I am talking to you the world slows down for a second and I can breathe. I am happy with you. I thought I might be in love with you, but I do not really know what the feeling is. All I know is your were my best friend and my life is better with you in it. I will not lose you again. I will hold tighter to you than I have held on to anyone because I know what it is like to not have you and it hurts like hell. I don’t want to go through that ever again.
I feel sick. The last time I felt like this it ended worse than I could ever have imagined. Last time I felt this sick I was left with a scar on my wrist that looks like a line terminating my existence. But, yet again, here I am. Nine years. Nine years between us and somehow we have managed to make this out of our lives. Two days and you make me think about every waking moment of my existence and question every choice I have ever made. Is this my fault? My stomach feels like it is consuming itself and someone’s hand is reaching down my throat to stop it. I am alone in this and I do not know how I got here. You are kind. You are sweet. But even the day I become legal I am the same person that I am just the day before. One day does not change me. So why is it then and only then that we can be? I do not think this can work but for some reason, I cannot say no. This is my fault. I got myself into the situation. You do not make me sick. I make me sick. I am repulsed by the thought that I can be so ignorant and so willing. Though you are okay with this I am not. But I will not tell you that because I am weak. I will continue and wait until I become so sick of the thoughts going through my head and you decide that whatever this is cannot work. It is always me. I will always get myself into this. I am my own problem. I am my own worst fear. I am sorry just as sorry as I will be when we end this. I am sick and I do not know if I can live with it.
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.
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.
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.
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.