I want to be someone else or I’ll explode
Sleepwalking through this nightmare, swimming through these unrelenting waters of turbulence and turmoil–unable to even blink my eyes without the incessant flashing of pain stinging my retinas with their unsettling rate of speed–this projector never resting…never ceasing to remind me of life’s harsh realities.
My heart’s grown heavy–too heavy to continue on my own. I futilely attempt to achieve a moment’s rest and then am once again immediately transported to another place… I’m lying flat against the rocks, bones shattered into splints, pieces of who I used to be scattered amongst the pristine white shoreline around me. Each bit of flesh dotting the sands of the beach like some macabre timeline…a scarlet tinged reminder of all the many failures and missteps I’ve endured throughout my numerically short, and yet epically lengthy stint on earth. With each rolling tide a memory erased–pulled beneath the black of the ocean without a fight. The stark contrast of crimson–the color of life and subsequently the sure mark of death–smeared atop an alabaster background–is imagery I am all too familiar with. It is, in fact, forever burned in my head and etched upon my subconscious. I’ve been branded forever with these hellish visions for all eternity. And it’s become increasingly evident that the burden of my past sins has become all too much for a single soul to bear.
I have observed that the line between emotions has become blurred. There is no longer any spectrum or gradient scale of sensations left to be felt. I enjoy this incommunicable numbness in short stints, but am now rarely capable of escaping from its grasp. I stare rigidly, peering right through those around me, eerily stoic in the face of danger and situational disarray–bullets screaming past my ears, some penetrating slightly into the skin, but never enough for me to falter. I am able to register the cacophony of raised voices hanging heavily in the air. I can hear the somber cries and aching throats choking on stale tears, but I don’t feel anything. I know I should. I used to be so goddamn empathetic. But, out of necessity I have grown the ability to close up inside my armored shell. I see these faces worn with grief that I have caused, I still sense their pain, I know they ache, but all I can do is stand there. I can hardly manage to extend my arms for a hug or coerce my lips to deliver a sympathetic word. There has been so much damage done to every square inch of surface area of my heart, soul, and mind that I fear that the bulk of this damage is irreparable. I hope to not be this grotesque for the remainder of my existence–this gargoyle frozen solid in stone. But, in my current situation I am left no choice but to amend myself–for I cannot afford to falter this go-around. Anger and sadness are separated by nothing more than a single thread from a spider’s silky web. Contentment and bereavement are indistinguishable from one another.
Perhaps this is my coping mechanism for battling the myriad of mood disorders I am shouldering. Perhaps, yes. The ebbs and flows I would typically endure during a twenty-four hour span is staggering. Life with me in any area other than a casual acquaintance is maddening–quite literally. It has come to my attention that as I am today… I am coming up with fewer and fewer reasons to remain walking along the surfaces of this planet. My purpose in life has yet to emerge from the depths below, but I’m finding that the less I search and scavenge the more the jigsaw pieces are starting to fall into my wanting palms. I’m solving my own story day by day- We can only keep taking steps towards our ultimate goal–our reason for being.
But, this doesn’t change the fact that I’m struggling to comprehend numerous incontrovertible truths. These morsels of reality relentlessly patrol the outskirts along the vast expanse of emptiness enveloping my mind. Logic continues to remain greased up and out of reach. The moment I catch wind of something disguising itself as an instigator of great change I latch on to it, hold tightly, allowing it to transport me wherever need be. I can’t do it on my own. I admit that I have issues, but deny I need any help. I know I need others, but rarely acknowledge that I want to be anywhere but alone. I hate leaving my house, but I crave the sensation of the wind on my cheek and the sun upon my back. I feel that friendships are difficult to maintain and relationships even harder, but that I’d wither away without them. These contradictory elements make my foray into the darkness that much more challenging–so I’ve found my niche, I believe. I have discovered a way to grow stronger, to grow more impenetrable to the ups and downs of daily living, to achieve a semblance of perceived stability–enough to perhaps>>>>PERHAPS fool even my own brain into believing myself cured.
Right now it’s tough. I am losing the battle at the moment, but I am recharged each and every time I connect in just the right way with the one pulling me through the mist. It makes it worth it. If just for that one electrifying second.