Emotion

The worst part is not being able to remember. It's not knowing how it felt, or the sensations of the occurrence. What's worst isn't the experience, but not even being able to recall enough of the emotional aspects of it to either learn from it or even integrate it into an understanding of life in any way.

Repression is annoying. On the one hand, it's convenient and allows painful memories to be erased. But on the other, it stops the mind from accessing those memories when someone's ready to deal with them again. It stops any emotion, feeling, sensation, recollection, anything that could potentially lead to some form of closure.

It still hurts because it's like a lesson not learned. The knowledge of the experience is still there, but the ability to deal with it isn't. There is no sensation to go off of, no emotions, no relevant meaning...it's blank. That makes it virtually impossible to associate with other aspects of life, other experiences.

If something about it had stuck in mind...fear, pain, anger, just about any emotion, it would be easier to work with. But nothing did. It's one blank slate. The knowledge of it is there, but it's almost like a movie, a thing so separate that one doesn't even feel anything. Standard memory doesn't cover this sort of occurrence because repression stepped in and cut out the most essential parts.

All that remains is an empty shell. Because those traces of emotion were lost and abandoned, a solid path can't be constructed from the past to the present. And without that path, how can the present state be understood? It can be observed, labeled, and categorized...but it can't be accepted, integrated, or truly realized.

Is any experience worth it if the associated emotions are not retained? Can it really be of any value to an individual, then? Or does it in that way cause even more harm? If the emotions were there, they could at least be analyzed, assessed, dealt with...but as it stands, the entirety of the situation is blank...leaving in addition to a set of missing feelings an entirely separate set of confusion and conflict, misery and despair at the hopeless prospect of ever being able to understand it.

Maybe in that way, the experience is more of a test than it would have been had emotions been retained in memory. Perhaps this emptiness is more of a challenge to come to terms with. But is it really possible for human nature to simply accept an unknown without coming up with theories that could never be tested? For that is so unlike the human mind, so lacking in the thirst for knowledge and quest for greatness that leads people to become who they are.

The question is one not of overcoming, but one of accepting. What happened in the past is not, per se, a barrier in the present, but is rather an influence on it, of which the effects are not entirely understood, if at all. So what happens next? How is it best to proceed so that any sort of comprehension may now take place? That is the question.

Twilight

I walked out in distress. The pain clutched at my body and tore me to bits. I didn't want to be there anymore, I wanted to do whatever it took to get out. So I walked out. It was really all that simple. I walked outside into the fading light and wondered where to go from there.

It can be said that I'd reached the point of not caring, that I'd crossed the boundary from reasonable behavior to acting on emotions and instincts. But that wasn't what was in my mind at the time. All I was aware of was the misery.

When I stepped out, I didn't know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. I just knew that I had to get away. And with that driving me forward and pain fueling my movement, I began to walk. I knew not where I was going, and it didn't matter in the least. I was getting away, and it was the only thing that could make me forget about the agony even for a minute.

If I wanted to forget, I had to keep walking, and I knew that. So I kept on. I went forward until it didn't matter anymore where I was or how I got there, so long as I kept myself in motion. By then I'd lost track of time, not that it really mattered to me anyway. I was lost in my own world.

And after a bit, my legs began to ache and I began to feel the breath grating through my throat, tired from the unexpected exertion, fatigued from the strain that had driven me forth. I began to slow down, and as I did, I felt the world come back around me. There was sensation once again, not just my breath and heartbeat, but the motion of the rest of the world.

I took a deep breath then, and I gave myself up. I gave myself up to the twilight and the music, I let my mind float freely on the wind, unhindered by my emotional baggage, unabashed by my torturous thoughts. I let myself go. And for one single moment of my existence, I was free. I was completely and totally, simply and elegantly free.

I Lied

The more time I spend worrying that people know too much about me, the more I come to realize that nobody knows everything about me. And that makes me very happy. Because while a few people know far more than I like anyone to know about me, they're still missing pieces. I do it on purpose. Nobody needs to know that much, so I just fix that problem very simply: I lie.

Maybe I'm a pathological liar. It wouldn't surprise me in the least. When I'm confronted with something I'm ashamed of, afraid of, or otherwise don't want to face, I just lie. It may have no consequence for me in the long run, it may not lead to anything, but I still lie. The way most people know me is an elaborate framework of white lies that I have subconsciously told for a reason I cannot begin to fathom.

All of those bits and pieces, those little white lies, the times I keep the silence when I could correct the misconception...why? Put me in a corner, and I lie. Any sort of pressure, and the truth cowers behind the wall of my lies.

Do you remember when I said I was okay?

I lied.

But you already knew that. And when I said I didn't know?

I lied.

You knew that, too. But what about when I said I didn't care?

I lied.

You may have suspected that one, but you sure as hell didn't know it. There are so many things I said. And so many of them were lies. Certainly, not all of them. If everything I'd said had been a lie, I wouldn't be writing this post right now, I wouldn't be thinking the thoughts I am, I wouldn't worry about people knowing so much about me.

But what is it that I'm most afraid of? Is it getting hurt by people knowing what I was thinking or is it hurting people with the contents of my mind? That's one thing I haven't lied about, though...it's both, and I'm not sure if it's one more so than the other or not, but either way, that's one thing I've said that remains the truth.

And that's one of the few things I may have been honest about. Because when asked why I do or don't do something, the answer rarely matches up with the reality. So when you asked me this or that, or what you've asked before...remember that answer I gave you? Well here's a hint:

I lied.

I may have convoluted my entire self to procure lies out of thin air, to veil myself and hide the truth. It doesn't mean that it's not there anymore, it doesn't mean that I won't admit to it. But somehow, you have to learn that anything I say can't just be taken at face value...if only because I have yet to find a situation worth risking the truth for.

Racing Ahead

Today has been a long day. To explain the inevitable mistakes I will make in this post, here is the story of what happened: I woke up at 4 am, had nothing to eat or drink until 8:15 pm, spent 10 hours in a car, about 8 of them on the highway. So now I think I can actually begin writing something (hopefully) not horrendous.

There's really something in it, though. Racing at 75 miles an hour over a stretch of road. When you do it for four hours straight, the world around you blurs, vanishes, everything ceases to matter. And for a total of eight hours today, half of my thoughts were echoing one line.

Up ahead there was a curve approaching...she made no indications of slowing.

Lyrics to "The Approaching Curve" by Rise Against. It's probably not the best prospect in the world that going at ridiculously high speeds, the thoughts in my mind were ones of simple suicide. But somehow, the thought doesn't frighten me. It enthralls me. And right now, I'm too tired to find fault in it. Right now, I smile at the simple beauty of that thought.

Because really, death is beautiful. It is so simple, so elegant, even in agony. Something about it is nothing short of marvelous. I figured out a while ago now that I don't fear death...I may fear pain in death, or missing something in life, but death itself holds no fear over my head. If I could talk to death, I would without so much as a moment's hesitation.

So racing along the highway, I thought of death. Nothing more, nothing less. It got me through those eight long hours, if nothing else. In the end, that's what matters about life, is it not? Just getting through it...finding our way through the hell that may surround us at a given time. Maybe none of that makes sense, or maybe it makes too much...either way, it doesn't matter, if only because right now, I don't want it to.

Stop Me

I'm not sure if that's a command or a request. I don't know whether I mean it sincerely or if I just want to see that someone will. Either way, I'm saying it.

I'm trembling. The thoughts in my head are racing by and my mind is reeling from the confusion. I may be in a bright room, flooded with light, full of the noises of everyday life, people working, clocks ticking, footsteps in the halls, but it is as though I am sitting in a dark corridor, lost and alone. The feeling is too familiar. It's a corridor I've never once seen in my life, yet have metaphorically sat in time after time after time.

Here I am again.

There is no light in the passageway. There is no beginning and no end. There is only me, crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around my legs, hoping that this way, nothing can touch me, yet knowing full well that I've been torn to shreds long before I got here.

Am I waiting for something?

I have no sense of time passing. For all I know, the rest of the world around me may have disappeared long ago. I'm wrapped in a blanket of pain. The only things I feel are the anxiety eating through my stomach and the misery crawling about my flesh. All I know is that I can't stop them. I can't do anything except for sit here and hope that it will pass.

The worst part is knowing that I put myself there. I found my way into that hallway, although I'll be damned if I know how. Nobody shoved me down against the wall. Nothing tied me down. It's all my fault.

Again.

Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I keep dumping the pathetic semblance of an individual that I am into this hell? I keep looking for excuses to let myself, and the worst part is that I know damn well exactly how to find them. I've learned to lie to myself and everyone around me about just why there's no avoiding this. But I've sliced through the nonsense, torn through the lies, and found the gnarled, convoluted mess that is the truth.

I did this to myself. And I will keep doing it.

That's the grim truth. Look into my eyes, and they will tell you nothing less. I don't fear the pain any longer. I'm not ashamed of the hell I drag myself through. But I still hide it. I hide it because I don't want pity and I don't want so-called concern. I don't need the nonsense that people present to appear compassionate or understanding. I'm tired of the nonsense and sick of the lies. They mean nothing, they aren't worth my effort or my time.

In this corridor, I have learned to build the iron wall that encircles my heart. I still feel, but I don't let it control me. And sometimes it rusts or falls into disrepair, and then I build it up again. The agony is the fire that fuels it, the intolerable pain is what renders it impermeable to the cruelty of the world.

This is how I live. This is what I do. This is how I handle life.

Stop me if you dare.

Become

I said I'd write a lot, so here I am, writing...and apparently, I'm writing a lot. Because right now, I can't say it, I can't do anything about it, I can't express it in any way other than by writing. This is why I dislike like this place so much. So damn much.

Every single time I'm here, this place hits me. It hits all of the worst parts of me--my weaknesses, my imperfections, my vulnerabilities, my miseries, my emotional issues. And in this case, I can't fight back. The thing is, knowing that I can't so much as raise my voice, so much as voice my dissatisfaction, kills me. It drives me straight to hell. Because how am I supposed to be strong, when every last thing around me is pulling me down and I can't even fight against it.

That's what makes it so hard. I've spent hours of today thinking, reasoning, trying to understand as much as I can about what's going on, what's wrong, and what I need to fix. Probably the only thing I've realized is that the problem isn't the place around me, isn't the people who play a part in my life, but is me--the way I think, act, reason, everything.

So it all comes back to the question I asked before: what happens next? What do I do now? And I still don't really have an answer. Right now, I'm sincerely trying. I'm trying to not get angry with my circumstance, to make the best of an unpleasant situation, to smile even though all I want to do is scream and shout. But it's hard...and I'm not sure how long I can maintain it, or if I'm even doing the right thing.

I want to make this work, and I'm willing to try different things to do it, but I don't necessarily know where to start. I'm confused, I'm lost, I've forgotten myself. And now I'm working to remember, to get a grip on the world around me again, to make sense of the things I experience.

I think I really have come to terms with things though. Some things that have happened don't affect me as much anymore, and I've learned to look at them as events that have shaped me, but do not define me. Sometimes the image crumbles, and all of my issues come streaming forth again. Then I lose confidence, doubt myself, and wonder if it's even worth anything.

Maybe it's really not. But all that I can do is try to make the most of it, to figure it out. Although I do often wonder just how close to that line I'd have to get, just how far over the edge I'd need to lean...in order to want to turn around. What would it take for me to really throw everything away and start afresh? I don't know, and I'm not sure I'm willing to find out, either. So for now, I'm trying to do what I can with the situation I'm in, to make the best of what I've got around me, without making the system crumble or my entire foundation collapse.

Enabler

I figured it out. I know what changed. I found an enabler. That's what's made this year so different from every year before. I found a friend who would let me mess my life up, who understands the irrational thoughts going through my brain, and who doesn't try to stop them. That's what changed.

The irony is, I'm not exactly upset about that. I like some of my ridiculous, harmful, strange thoughts, I like the irrational, laden, confusing actions they lead to. I like having someone who enables me. I don't want anyone to stop me. The prospect of spiraling out of control into a realm of foolishness and destruction fascinates me, I find it absolutely enthralling. And I don't want it to stop.

Unfortunately, I'm not oblivious to this. I realize that I cannot continue on like this, so while I want an enabler and don't want anybody to stop me, I know that I need someone who will step in and not let me mess it all up. What's funny is that it just occurred to me that maybe it shouldn't be people stepping in and enabling me or stopping me, but rather myself.

And while that is true, while I also know that I am the only reason I haven't completely lost it yet, I've just realized the significance that an enabler has had on this instance in my life. If a person's influence can change things this radically, it would probably be best for me to find a competing influence, a better one, if only because I know I shouldn't continue on this highway to hell I'm currently traversing.

Sometimes I scorn the fact that I'm intelligent enough to realize these things. Sometimes I wish it would be simpler and I'd just let myself go completely. But the fact of the matter is, that's not going to happen. I'm not going to let it. And while that may occasionally make me bitter, in the long run, I know it's probably for the best, so I'll accept it and figure out what to do from here on out.

It Doesn't Need To Be

And then it hit me. Just walking along the dirty street in the murky light and the bitter wind, it all made sense. All of the fear, the anxiety, the confusion...gone. Just like that. In one second, it clicked. Everything worked again. The mess of the past few months vanquished, destroyed, obliterated as if it had never even existed.

Unfortunately, that hasn't happened to me...yet. What I'm hoping is that this week gives me the opportunity to realize something like that. And I know that it's not going to be this whole spectacular, instantaneous realization, but I hope that it's at least going to be something.

The thing is, I don't think I need some huge change. I probably just need to start looking at the small stuff a little bit differently. Nothing major has changed that I can use to account for all of this, but something has clearly happened. So maybe all that really needs to happen is just a small adjustment, a little reminder of why things seemed to work so much better before.

Maybe they didn't really work better before, but only seemed to...that in itself would serve to explain whatever change took place to put me where I am today. But what happens next? That's the real question. While it would be nice to understand how I got here, that's not nearly as important as what I do to move on from this place I'm at.

That's what this is all about, figuring out what to do from here on out. My life is changing around me every single day, whether I like it or not. And I need to figure out what I'm going to do about it. None of this is anything I hadn't already known, but I'm writing it anyway. If I write enough, maybe it'll start falling together, maybe I'll start seeing pieces connect that wouldn't have done so in my mind. Or maybe the only thing that this will all be good for is looking back and seeing just what sort of a mess I went through, later on in my life.

Seeing Stars

I keep lying down and finding myself, staring at the ceiling, expecting to see stars. Yet I know perfectly well that there will be no stars there, that the only thing that will appear before my eyes is the speckled pattern of old and water-damaged ceiling tiles. But I keep conjuring before myself the image of the night sky, the way it used to be, the way it's supposed to be, the way I miss seeing it on long camping trips where nothing mattered anymore.

That was the beauty of camping. Getting out of the world, out of the ordinary, mundane, nonsense-cluttered lives we all lead and seeing nature for what it is. It's a chance to forget about our sorrows and move beyond our doubts. So there I lie, on a semi-regular basis, watching the "stars" of the ceiling disappear before my eyes, and see reflected in my thoughts the freedom of those long, sweet memories.

Maybe that's the beauty of such recollection. That years later, we can lie back down beneath a ceiling full of holes and see before us the quilt of stars that covered the sky. In moments like these, we remember power and passion; sympathy and compassion. We truly start to live again. So maybe it's not perfect. Maybe it's not where we want to be.

But it's where we are, it's the floor we lie on, the walls we press ourselves against, and the ceilings we stare up at in hope of finding inspiration. Sometimes we just forget the rest of the world, let it all go, and remember what it means to really feel again. The moments are so soon forgotten, the emotions quickly smothered by everyday life, but they remind us of what life really is, the peace that it can sometimes be so grandly filled with.

It may be no more than a ceiling, but there is no reason it can't bring back a minute of much-needed rest, a moment of grateful reflection, an instant of precious time.

Sorting Out

This next week is giving me a break. It is going to be a restful time, and I'm glad it's coming when it is because right now, I need it. I've spent a good half of the last week breaking down or recovering from breakdowns, and I need to figure some things out. I need the time to sort it out, put it all down and come to understand what's been going on so that I can fix it.

So that's what I'm going to be doing. I want to write. And I mean, I want to write a lot. I think that one of the first days that I have all to myself (which may not be until Wednesday, I have a feeling), I'm going to just sit down and write for a couple of hours. Whether I end up posting what I write or not depends on what ends up coming out, because there are still things that I'm not going to blog about. But the fact of the matter is, I'm going to take this week ahead of me, and use it fully. I'm going to figure things out and set a plan.

I've figured out from this week that I can't continue like this. For all the hell that it's been, I guess I'm at least grateful to have figured that much out. I need to set things out, concretely and reasonably. So all that stands between me and the writing I need to do is two more days and a bit of sleep-deprivation and work. But while that goes on, I'll deal with it. I don't think I'll be happy in these next two days, but I will be collected and reasonable.

I'm determined now to figure it out. I'm determined to fix wherever I have gone wrong and make it work. I want to come back to my daily life rested and repaired, fixed and healed. I'm not going to let myself be trampled on by the world any longer. So I'm going to take action. And while I realize that this is definitely not the best post I've written in a while, I'm hoping that better ones are forthcoming. Hopefully this next week gives me some revelations, realizations, or reflections that will make for interesting posts.

Why Should I Forgive?

So I was out of topics to write about...again (big surprise, right?), so I decided to use a random prompt generator. And the title of this post is precisely what the generator came up with. I guess now I actually have to figure out what to write with regards to that...

Why to forgive? What is the sense in that simple action? What does forgiving someone give us? Well, I guess the first question has to be: what does it even mean to forgive? Forgiving is...moving on, accepting what happened (so not forgetting it), but not letting it affect what happens in the future in a negative way. It is a response to the action taken by a person and it is often motivated by the desire to either make things right or have that person play an active role in our lives once more.

We need to forgive in order to make the best of the life that's left to us. If we continue to hold grudges and harbor dissatisfaction with various people in our hearts, we stop ourselves from happiness, we become miserable and resentful of the past. Sometimes not forgiving holds us back so much that we forget about the prospect of a future, give up on the possibility of improvement or any sort of happiness.

What do we gain from forgiveness, then? We gain a bit of liberation from the things that restrain us, we learn to move forward from where we had previously been stuck. In forgiving someone, we show ourselves that we have accepted what happened and are ready to move on, having gained wisdom and experience, but not lost our love of life or anticipation of the future. Forgiveness lets us really continue life instead of waiting for something to come to us. It's all a part of the process of moving forward and learning what we may.

So-Called Friend

10:45 pm
You walk into my room. You don't even knock, just burst in. But fine, I'm used to that from you by now. And you ask if I have any bread. I tell you, "I don't think so, check the fridge." So you look in the fridge, say, "nope," and bounce on out, the same way you came in.

Wow...did you really just do that? My cheeks were soaked with tears, my hair was thrown around from running my hands through it so much, my voice was ragged and unsteady, and I didn't look at you. You didn't even notice. You didn't so much as think about me for a minute to figure it out. And really, I promise you it wouldn't have been that hard to tell.

So then this morning, you ask if I'm okay. No, no I'm not. But you know, I'm not crying today, my hair is not messed up all around my head, my voice is steady and controlled. I didn't tell you any of that though, I said, "yeah, I'm fine."

And you looked at me and said, I quote, "No, something's wrong, your breathing is off and you're spacey." Are you serious? You couldn't tell when I was crying last night, and yet you notice my damn breathing this morning?

"Alright, fine. Something is wrong," I told you.

"I take it you don't want to talk about it?" No, no I don't. I really don't. Because you managed to miss it when I really needed you. You messed up when I was in tears, so I really don't want to hear what you have to say now that I've actually managed to pull myself together a bit.

Then you went so far as to say, "but I'm your friend, I'm supposed to be there for you and support you." Really? You didn't notice that I was crying yesterday, you didn't stop to help me then, you weren't there to support me when I needed you to be. So I don't want you here now. I may need you to help me, but I sure as hell don't want you to.

And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm upset with you for not being there when I was the one breaking down. Because I guess I really can't expect you to be there for me. You'd think I would have figured this out by now, but I guess I haven't...oops. Maybe one of these days I'll finally learn that people are all assholes, friends are never true, and life just doesn't work.

Change

Something has to change. I know it. I know I can't keep going like this. I need to do something, make sense of something, figure something out. I don't even know what it is, but I need to change something. I also think that about half of the words in those past couple of sentences were "something," but that's alright...I don't really care right now.

I need to make sense of wherever the hell I am in my life right now. I need to take some time, and step back, and figure it all out so that I can stop messing it all up. But I know perfectly well that I don't really have that kind of time, not right now, not ever. So I have to make the best of what I do have...which is now.

The problem is that I can't think straight. I'm sitting here, trying to make sense of something, anything, and none of it is coming together in the least. I keep messing things up in my life and ruining the opportunities I get. So how do I stop that? How do I make it all work again? I wish I had half a clue.

Because I tried to change something today, to make some sense of it all. And it still didn't come together. No matter how hard I tried, I'm still left here to ponder where I went wrong, why it doesn't work anyway. And I know that this is an absolutely terrible blog post, but I really don't care right now. I hope yesterday's was decent enough to make up for it, because I still largely feel that way, and I literally can't think of anything else to write right now...hell, I don't even have a reasonable conclusion to add right here, but whatever, it doesn't matter anyway.

Why

...and the only reason I don't ask is because I know you'll say "no."

At this point, that's just not worth it. Because if spending the day the way I did wasn't enough, the last thing I need is to hear "no" for an answer. So I'm not even going to ask. As much as I wish I would, I'm not even going to try. It's not worth it anymore, maybe at one point it was, but now it isn't.

So I give up. I can't keep doing this to myself, and I can't keep hoping. It is the way it is, and all I can do now is just take that and accept it. And here I am, lying to myself, yet again. Because I know that I won't just deal with it, and I know that against all better judgment I'll continue to hold out and hope.

I want more than anything right now to just ask. But I know that I can't, and I know that I'm not going to. I'm just going to keep sitting here, getting nothing done, knowing full well that it's the only thing I want...and hoping against all possibility that something will happen.

I'm tired of this, I'm sick of being broken. Please don't hold it against me, please just tell me it's all going to be alright...

Please?

Irony

Perhaps it is ironic that I have spent most of today trying to come up with a subject for a good post, but have regardless failed. The thing is, I know that anything I could come up with would not be nearly as powerful or interesting or worthwhile as what I wrote yesterday. And just as a matter of clarification, yesterday's post was entirely fictional, although one may argue that it reveals aspects of my mind and thought process that are indeed applicable.

Regardless, here I am again: trying to figure out what to write about. It seems as though in the past several days that has become more difficult to do. Sometimes, as with yesterday, topics just come to me. Other times, I take what I was thinking about and alter it to make it more interesting as a post or perhaps change the way I write about it. But then some days like today, I find myself entirely lacking in subject matter.

So then I either write a post like this, that details my troubles in coming up with a topic, or I ask someone to come up with a topic for me. Lately, I've been trying to write more moving, original, fascinating things...and I think it may have been working. I rather like some of the posts that I have written recently. However, I feel as though I am lacking in original subject matter to write about.

One of the things I enjoy writing most is a story that has happened to me, perhaps slightly exaggerated, perhaps somewhat blurred, perhaps shortly modified, but nonetheless my story. The problem is that recently, I have not had any stories of my own that seem worth writing. Or any that have, I find to be the sorts of things that I do not as of yet bring myself to write about.

Here I sit again, then...spilling out my thoughts as they enter my head, wondering how else to write a good post tomorrow, hoping that some form of inspiration will strike. But more often than not, it doesn't, and I find myself rambling yet again, much like I am at present. So I apologize sincerely for the lack of powerful post today, but I conclude this with the hope of producing a decent piece of writing tomorrow.

Fall

I stood there and I watched the fall. I could have stopped it but I didn't.

I stood there and I thought of what I could have done. Maybe just a word, or a hug, or a glance. But I didn't. I didn't walk away, but I didn't do anything either. I knew it was going to happen, and I could have changed it, but I made the conscious decision to let it be as it may.

In that moment, I felt nothing. Watching the body falling through the air, all was silent. Every sound around me stopped. I was empty, I was as empty as the shell of a body that was falling down. Even after there was nothing left to see, I stood there and I didn't move my eyes.

Hours passed. The sun went down in the sky. I was still there. I hadn't moved. If I tried, I would have found that my feet were asleep and my fingers cold from having been still for so long. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

I tried to make myself feel something. I forced the tears to my eyes, and let the bitter wind carry them to the side along my cheeks. Even after they had long been dry and the skin of my lips started cracking, there was nothing there.

I felt nothing.

I saw it clear as day, the body falling through the air, the glimmer of the sun off the watch for no more than an instant. I didn't do anything because I was selfish, because I wanted to know what it would feel like to watch a life flicker out, because I wanted to have a reason to cry, because I wanted something to change in my life. I had stood there and watched.

And nothing had happened. Nothing except that a person had died, and I was left without a friend. I felt no guilt, no sorrow, no remorse. There was nothing to feel. Because in the end, not a bit of it mattered. I had effectively taken a life, and done it without flinching. I took a single deeper breath and walked away, the steady click of my shoes on the pavement following me home.

A single lamp illuminated the empty night. Then all was still, and human life forgotten.

Cling

Like wet clothing sticksto the skin in getting out of a pool, so emotions stick to thoughts in trying to escape from the sentimental realm of feelings. In professional situations or ones that require an objective point of view, we're always told to remove ourselves from how we feel about a subject or our initial impressions of it.

But that never works. No matter how hard we try to shake off the water of emotions, the clothing of our thoughts is still sopping wet and clinging all around our bodies, snaring us in the familiar habits of mind. But in all actuality, that's not the beginning of the story, but rather the end. It all begins with how we got into sentiment in the first place, how we found ourselves in that strange pool that later lingered with us everywhere we went.

In childhood, we were given no choice...we learned what it was to feel, what it meant to be sad, happy, to like or dislike. With time, however, we learned to manage our habits of mind. We figured out just what it was to let ourselves feel. We stood at the edge of that pool before us, wondering whether we should get in. Maybe a toe went in ever so slowly to test the waters, maybe we had to think long and hard, or maybe it was as simple as a running start and a leap.

One way or the other, we all took that plunge. We immersed ourselves in this mysterious world of emotions. Like ice-cold water, the feelings struck through our bodies and our minds in ways that we had not known. It wasn't necessarily what we all wanted, and certainly nothing that we in any way deserved, but it's where we found ourselves each day. Suddenly, the way that gravity worked in our lives changed...it was the sensations around us that determined what we did, not just the straight reason for which the human mind is so well-known.

And then we tried to get out. The problem with getting away from it all is that it follows is. Once you're in, you don't just walk out unscathed. Emotions, thoughts, sympathies...they all change you, no less than cuts, bruises, and fractures do to your body. Everything plays out in its own way, leaves its own marks, and we find ourselves standing once again on dry land, shaking off the cold of emotions that we had grown so accustomed to because we find that we can't always let ourselves be governed like that...

Heart-Shaped Box

There is a box in all of us, be it shaped like a heart or a diamond, that we keep from the rest of the world. The question is always one of what happens when we open it. What do we find? What does this reveal to us, to others? The problem with such boxes, be they literal or metaphorical, is that they are full of secrets. And those are possibly the things we fear the most.

That box has one of those old locks on it, the ones that look like they would have been beautiful but whose beauty is hidden by grime, maybe just the same way as people. And the key is simple, old-fashioned and plain, the sort that anyone who has half a clue about modern locks will tell you couldn't do much of anything. But that's not the point of it. It's one of those locks that clicks as soon as you turn the key, and squeals when you lift the lid to open it.

Somehow, right before you see what's inside, your heart skips a beat, your breath stops short in your throat for an instant, and then you open it and life goes on as normal. So what do you find? What secrets, truths, passions, desires, mysteries, agonies, reflections are there? All of the pieces of paper, going further and further into the seemingly bottomless box. Some folded, some crinkled, some with torn edges and holes burnt right through. These are the memories, the stories, the confusions and misunderstandings that have shaped your world.

Without them, you are nothing. With them, you are full of fear. Fear of discovery, fear of weakness, fear of rejection, desertion, failure, misunderstanding and countless more. Within that box is what we all want most and what we all fear most--it is ourselves. We are our own most powerful enemies. Because we know everything. To have that power over someone, even if only yourself, is the power over life and death.

What do we fear so much about that box? That tiny box is somehow the center of our lives, the thing that defines us. Maybe that's why so often when we're caught gazing into it, we shut it tightly and avert our eyes. We fear anybody knowing as much about us as is in that box. Secret after secret, page after page, our lives are spelled out there, and if we were foolish enough to leave that box unlocked for one to see, it would be as though we left our souls out to be taken for free. So we guard them, and hide them, and sometimes even try to throw away the key...but somehow it always finds its way back to us and we find ourselves once more peering into the shadows of the letters on each page...

Truth

How do I write the truth without writing the truth? How do I say what I mean without making it obvious? The thing is, I promised myself to be honest in what I wrote here. I promised that I would write nothing but what I thought and felt. So why am I not? Why am I holding myself back? What am I afraid of? I guess I might as well try, since I can't think of anything else to say.

I'm hurt. That message brought up absolutely everything that I had been trying to avoid, everything that I was trying to move on past, everything that I wanted to be able to forget. And just as I thought I was starting to succeed, there it was, waiting to throw me down. I don't know why it cast me down the way it did, I had hoped that the past didn't carry that much power over me anymore. Evidently, it still does. Apparently, I'm still trying to do what I thought I had succeeded at before.

That sets me back even further than I was before. I wanted to get out of here tonight, I wanted to be outside, or far away, or anywhere that wasn't in front of my computer, because I couldn't have that message glaring at me as it was. So I got out. Only happy banter wasn't what I was in the mood for. All of that didn't help. Sure, it wasted time, I'll give it that, but it was another one of those conversations where I am content to listen and say nothing myself, and then eventually I drift out of it, and am left to my own thoughts, which in this case were not exactly pleasant in any way.

I was crying. But nobody noticed, because of course it's one of those things that we'd all rather ignore. Because nobody wants their good mood ruined by someone else's issues. Of course. It's not anything unexpected, nothing I couldn't have guessed would happen. I locked my door when I came back. God only knows what's happened before when I've locked the damn door like that. But nothing happened, not this time. I wish I had less self-control so that for once I might take action, for once might do something or say something for myself instead of just writing it.

Why do I keep lying? To myself and to everyone else. I keep saying I'm alright, when clearly I'm not. Why do you keep asking if you know what I'm going to say? Why do you keep talking if you know I'm not going to respond? Why do you keep up the pretense of actually caring when you don't give a damn anymore? I have 3 chat windows open right now. Each of those questions was directed to one person. And what are the chances that none of them is going to know that I probably really should say that to them?

I don't even know what to say anymore. I'm crying again, because this has broken me thoroughly today. There's nothing else I can say. Nothing I haven't said, or rather written, before. And maybe that's the problem, that I'll write it but will never say it. But how am I supposed to be able to pull myself together enough to say so much as a word of what I mean? How am I supposed to even hold myself together anymore?

I can't even go to sleep right now. I'm shaking, with sobs and maybe with something more, I don't know. I'm broken, empty, shattered. I keep using those words to describe myself, but what the hell else am I supposed to say? I couldn't fall asleep if I tried, so I won't even bother. I'll sit here for a couple more hours and attempt to get work done. And in the end, I'll probably cry myself to sleep anyway. But what does it matter? It's nothing short of the usual by now. I wish I was just saying that...I really wish that was the case.

Tired

So what am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say to the world when all I want to do is run away from it and avoid it? What am I supposed to do when all I want to do is run away and hide in a corner, away from where anything can reach me? What am I supposed to be, now that I'm here, lost, alone, forgotten?

This is what my life has become. I'm tired. I don't know what to make of it anymore. All I have left is just pulling myself through this, day by day, again and again. I have nothing else left. I am the sum total of all of my emptiness, and nothing more. I'm running on the lack of anything. Maybe it's the hope for something that's keeping me going, or maybe it's just a perpetuation of habit that will at one point, as with all things, stop.

I'm sorry. This again is a terrible post, but I don't care. I doubt I'll really be able to write anything even the least bit more worthwhile today, so I'm hoping that maybe something half-tolerable will make itself apparent by tomorrow. And if not, then I'll apologize again, for the very same nonsense that I am excusing myself for now.

Hold Me

I think I may have realized something today. And maybe it's only temporary, or only because of the weather, but it hit so poignantly that I feel it worthy of writing down. As is known, or at least can be surmised from this blog, I am single, and have been for...perhaps longer than I care to recount, and probably will be for a good while longer. But something about the situation has changed.

Before, I was looking for someone who understood my problems, who was willing to allow my self-destructive habits of mind and my masochistic patterns of thought. I wanted someone who would stand by and watch me break myself further and then hold me when I couldn't take it any longer. I wanted someone who wouldn't stop me, but would justify my problems to me, would accept me with the inconsistencies I had.

So what I realized is that I don't want that. I don't want to be broken anymore. I don't want to just justify my problems, I want to solve them, fix them, do something about them. I still want to be with someone who understands me and my issues, but I can't be in a relationship with someone who lets me continue on the path I've been going. I can't be with someone who's not willing to stop me and is only going to hold me after I have hit a point when I can no longer hold myself.

I don't just want something different, I need something different. I need to be able to move forward with my life, to fix the habits, and to change the way I see things around me. And I couldn't do that with someone at my side who would stand by as I drove myself deeper into despair. I guess I just need to start looking for different people than I have been before...

What also strikes me is that this is probably one of the most poorly-written posts, as far as flow and quality go, that I have written...in the past two weeks, certainly. And I wonder (or perhaps just hope) that it's because it is least stylized and most true, because it is the basest of my emotions, which cannot be adequately expressed in words, and thus come out choppy. That's probably not why it is so poorly-written, and if I went back and tried again to write the same thing, it may perhaps come out more eloquent. But I don't need eloquence. Eloquence is wonderful in some of my posts...but in this one, it doesn't matter. In this post, what matters is the thought behind it and not how it comes out in words, so I'm leaving it as is.

Letter To An Undisclosed Recepient

This post is going to be a letter. I know who I am writing to, and it is written specifically to one person. But nobody else will know who this is to, although some could inevitably guess.

Dear [name],

In all actuality, you don't even deserve a letter from me, and especially not one that starts with "dear," but I am polite and have retained some sense of decency that you appear to have lost, and so I write this as I do. What happened? To me, to you, to everything and anything between us? We were so close last year...we complained about the same people, laughed at the same jokes, and found comfort in similar emotions. And now...now I see you becoming one of the people we complained about, I see you laughing at me and the way I have become, and I see you mocking any sincere emotion I may have ever confided in you.

So what the hell happened? You hurt me. You hurt me like no other, and in so many ways. Now, I can't even talk to you. I can't so much as look at you without a mix of emotions that I do not understand rising up inside of me and begging for a release. I know all of what you've said about me behind my back, and I know that you'll never say the least bit of it to my face. That's maybe the part that bothers me most about it all.

You don't even have the guts to confront me, yet you mock me relentlessly, even knowing that I will hear. What else am I supposed to think of you? I see you as a coward, a selfish bastard who couldn't deal with things not working out and had to shatter my life, too , in order to have something to be happy about for yourself. I don't hate you, but I can't look upon you with any semblance of a positive emotion either, and sometimes I honestly wish that I could bring myself to hate you.

What I do hate, however, is the fact that you still affect me to this extent. I hate that I can't just move on from everything that happened, that I am still affected by what you've said and done. I want to move on from here with my life, to start afresh somewhere else, but I have to wait a while before I even get that chance. So here I am and here you are...ignoring each other, pretending we never even knew what it was like to understand the thoughts that we all had.

.........and that's all I have. I don't know how to finish it. I don't know what more I could say. I'm in a cross of too much pain and too much confusion to do anything, to think of anything, to be able to understand what I could even say. So I guess that's all I have this far. I feel as though I should somehow apologize, but I don't know how...

Bowl of Soup

So it's time for me to write something again, isn't it? Well, I should probably be getting to bed at some point soon, and was actually planning to do so an hour ago. But as evidenced by the fact that I am just now writing, that clearly did not happen. And I'm not tired either, so it may not happen for another couple of hours.

Although, I do feel rather calm and relaxed right around now. I'm happy things have simmered down as they have. Part of that is probably from the bowl of soup I just had though. It was quite nice. And maybe that's all we need in life--a nice, warm bowl of spicy soup at the end of the day to just let everything else fade away and disappear.

I look back on just 24 hours ago...what my thoughts had been, who I had been mad at, what I had returned from, where my feelings were, how I was acting...and it's all so insignificant. It seems as though it may have been months ago, or even years. In a way, it's a very nice sense of perspective right now, knowing that none of it matters. But on the other hand, it seems so sudden, so detached, almost frighteningly so...

Even in the past few days, everything that has happened seems like some sort of a weird dream that I fell into and am still trying to sort out. I'm not sure what has and hasn't happened. Some of what I know has is absolutely unbelievable, and other things that didn't happen I wonder at out of the expectation of seeing them take place. I feel adrift from reality and separate from all of life...and I really am not sure what to do about it; whether I should actually try changing that or not. I'll give it the weekend, and probably a couple more bowls of soup, to figure some of it out.

Smell The Thunder

I love storms. I love the pouring rain, the lightning, the thunder, everything about them. Which is why today was so perfect. Because of course, what do I do as soon as I find that it is pouring outside? I go out for a run. So that's how a good half-hour of my day today was spent--outside, in the rain.

Unfortunately, it stopped raining about two minutes after I got outside. But that's beside the point. I continued running. I continued running and thinking all of the thoughts that I needed to get out. I thought of things I love and things I hate. Of course, enough of them were the same...but the reasons were, of course, different.

It was what I needed. I needed to get out all of those emotions, I needed to cry while I ran. I needed to just let it all go, let the anger of my day fall into my footsteps hitting the ground and the tears streaming down my cheeks. Everything just fell through, everything that I needed so badly came around...the rain, the run, the pain, the burning, the tears.

I did something today that I needed, and that I should probably do more often. I let myself live. I let myself feel. I let myself forget about the world and release all control, if only for the space of thirty minutes. I let myself become a part of the storm, in my own way, by letting the wind, the rain, the darkness all wash over me and leave me devoid of what I had been full of before.

I broke rules, I broke bounds, I broke limits. In a way, I even broke myself. But tonight, I could afford that. Tonight, I could let that come to pass. So I did. And I am infinitely the better for it.

Reason

I don't really want to write today. I'm tired, and I'm not in a good mood, and no, it's not just the weather again. In part it's people, in part it's myself, in part it's just life in general. But that's pretty reasonable and rather average for me by now. The thing is, I can't say most of what's bothering me. What's maybe worse is that I can't really even write it.

I think that, unintentionally, that actually applies in two rather separate senses. The first of those is that I want to say something or write something about what's on my mind, and I do...but can't because of the reactions it may cause and consequences it may bring about for myself and others. The other possible sense is that I don't completely know what's getting to me this much, and can't even begin to try and express it. I meant it primarily in the former sense, but interestingly enough, the latter applies a bit, too.

So now comes the question that I've been asking myself on and off for...a rather long while now: do I not say things because I am afraid of hurting others or because I do not want to hurt myself? Inevitably, it is both. But what is it primarily? I'd love to believe that it's a matter of not hurting others...but I don't know that for a fact. And then again, it comes back to the fact that I'm hurting myself by not saying any of it.

I shouldn't keep emotions bottled up--I know, I've been told this many, many times. But I still do it, partially because some things are just better for people not to know (whether for their sake or for mine), and really...I know that nobody wants to hear the least bit of dissatisfaction that comes out of my mouth.

Alright, I'll be honest here...with myself and with this blog: what is currently bothering me most is not something difficult to admit to, nor implausible, nor threatening to me, and the reason that I'm not saying it isn't because I feel bad about complaining. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not saying it. I'm not letting myself say it. Because it would mess things up in my life and the lives of those around me, and would cause many, many positive things to disintegrate and countless negative ones to build up in exchange.

So, no. It's not the weather. It's not the fact that I have completely messed up my life in the past year. Yes, that bothers me too...but not so much right now as something else. I'm sorry that I can't say it, but as much as I want to, I know that it would be a bad idea. I guess it's just another one of those dark secrets that we all have floating around. Ironically enough, it's one of the few secrets that I keep that's actually about myself...

Walking The Line

I've decided that I'm going to take a risk today. I also think I've been writing too many posts lately with one- or two-word titles, so I decided to switch that up again. I've been rather unproductive lately, and from this first paragraph, I'm willing to bet that this sounds like another one of those posts that rants about how I have nothing to say. Hopefully by the end of this, that's not what it'll sound like at all. So what is this risk that I am taking? I am saying the truth. Admittedly, that's what I strive for with every post, but some are more vague and less revealing than I hope to make this one. Without further interruption, here goes nothing.

I like risk. I like walking the edge. I like sitting at the top and looking straight down at the distance I will fall if I so much as move an inch. And that's only the beginning. I like being powerless. I like losing control. I like not knowing what may happen, the instants that flicker and the moments that seem to hold for hours.

I love being pinned. I love being pushed against a wall or pressed to the ground. I love it when my hands are held and I can't move, when my breath comes in ragged bursts and I feel my heart pounding. I love not being able to do anything and having no choice but to wait and see what happens next. I love the anticipation, the excitement, the raw physiological response to losing control.

I live for the thrill. I live to feel a steel blade on my neck, to know that a tiny force exerted could so simply end my life. I live to know that I may fall and never open my eyes again. I live for the rush of adrenaline through my blood and the feeling of being awake that you only get on that edge. I live for the sheer excitement and ecstasy of not knowing what happens next.

There is one way in this life to make me think about something twice, and that is by putting an edge beneath my feet. If something takes away my breath and makes me forget everything but the moment because I can do absolutely nothing...I will never forget an instant like that. Nothing hits me as hard as having the power taken away from me. Nothing makes me feel, experience, live as much as something pushing me all the way to the edge and making me think that I may actually fall.

The challenge that I love taking most is the one that wagers my life...

Expectation

When one goes outside of the box, beyond the limits, exceeds whatever expectation may have been placed before them to be met, that is when a higher bar is set. Cliche as that phrase may be, the bar is set, it regardless encompasses the meaning of the phrase. Suddenly, failure becomes laughable, and there is all hell to pay for falling short of the newly established benchmark.

What if those boundaries weren't there? What if those minimums weren't expected any longer and failure didn't exist? How much freedom does that give the human race, to do as it will? It brings back the age-old question pondered by children and adults:

What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

So what would you do? Would you take the leap? Say hello? Walk away? Try again? Learn something new? Dance? Sing? Laugh? Cry? Would you make a beginning or an end? Which path would you choose, of the infinite ones no longer barred by the intimidating spider-webs of failure? How far would you take your dreams? Would you walk before the world with all the truths of your soul bared wide?

The possibilities would be endless. The opportunities that one could take from such a world have no limits and transcend all bounds. The fear of failure ties us back and stops us from finding what we may. We fear the judgment of the world, the stinging burn that we may feel from not making it over that bar and falling flat on our faces. What joy we could all find in a world where there was no longer a bar, where all were free to jump and spin as they would, without the fear of being ridiculed.

The best part of it all? The best part is that this is the world we live in. The beauty of a finite life is that once it's over, it's really over. In reality, there are no expectations we must meet, our failures are judged only by ourselves. No person but ourselves can determine when we fail. The world is ours for the taking and here we stand, afraid to charge through the spider-webs and find what we may. We don't know what lies ahead, but that is no reason to fear it.

Everything that we may find will not matter in the end. So what harm is there, then, in taking the risks we may to possibly see something interesting, discover something new? The things that people most often regret are not those that they did, but those they didn't do. Why must this fear of a self-imposed failure limit us to where we are right now? We are the only people stopping ourselves from getting as much out of this life as we can.

What are you waiting for? Nothing is going to miraculously fall out of the air to tell you to go for it. You have to tell yourself. We don't have forever...might as well make the most of it while we can.

One Step

One step out the door this morning, and the breath caught in my lungs. One glance at the grey sky and soft drizzle. One breath of that sweet, rainy air. One moment is all it took to ricochet me back a little under a year. In that one moment, every emotion came rushing back. Every memory that I had tried so hard to avoid.

In an instant, the world had spun backward and I was taking a walk in the drizzle, beaming with the happiness of what had taken place. And the smell, the sickeningly sweet fragrance that I will never be able to forget...it hung in the air, it fell from the trees, it cascaded with the tiny droplets hitting everything from above.

My head was reeling, then and now. I covered my face with my hands and just stood there. Minutes passed, people walked around me, the moisture from the air continued to collect on my clothes, the cold buried itself within my flesh until I was shivering, but the thoughts still wouldn't stop. Or perhaps I didn't want them to. Maybe what I wanted most was to remember everything that happened that day, every vivid detail, every sensation, emotion, realization.

That's the beauty of a year--the seasons go full-circle, and everything comes back to the way it was, only 365 days later. Some things change, but others never do...they always stay the same. That smell...that smell would never go away, it would follow me every spring under the grey sky and remind me of what had happened.

Is it nostalgia? Is it wistful longing for what I had then? Is it everything I was clinging to and trying to remember? Or every instant that I was trying to forget? In one step, I had gone from where I was, to where I had been. In that one step, I went back a year in my life, forgot everything that had happened since then, and let myself float away in memory, if only for the few minutes that I stood there, everything turning around me on its normal course.

Promise

"I promise," I whispered as I had countless times before. I would promise my soul away if it meant that you would be happy. I promise to be there for you when you need me. I promise to smile for you even if all I want to do is cry. I promise that I will never walk away, never abandon you, never let the cruel world take you without fighting me first.

Too bad that you would never know that. Too bad that you would never actually hear me say those words. Is it your loss or mine that no matter how much I try to protect you every day, you're never going to know the least of it? Because once again, it was the silence of the cold, dark bedroom that heard my whisper.

The phrase hung on the air, heavy with meaning, laden with struggle. There was no echo, no response. I closed my eyes and sighed, smelling the faint fragrance of spring drifting into the room. It would never be as it was before. All of those days, all gone...no longer mine to be had. Every little gesture, every smile or glance that had once meant so much was nothing any longer. It was all in the past.

And yet I still promised. I still whispered those words into the night, hoping that one day you would hear them, one day you would understand. I have followed you through heaven and through hell; most of the time you didn't even see me there. I am no longer beside you, I am behind you, waiting to catch you if you should fall, not because you want me there, but because I promised never to let you collapse.

Even as I lay there, remembering the look in your eyes, I knew that I could never expect the same from you. But I don't ask for it, either. The promises I made were all for you; every last word I ever whispered late at night was for nobody else. As the last breath escaped past my lips, my eyes shut and I abandoned myself to the realm of sleep. The final instants of my consciousness slipped away and the final thought was the promise I made to you, playing as a lullaby in the realm of dreams.

Not Again

So I was hoping to write a good post today, too. Well, evidently that didn't exactly happen. I guess that's just what I get for starting a post less than half an hour before it's supposed to be online. Hopefully tomorrow I'll actually manage to get some decent time to write it.

The irony is, that I actually had quite a few things to write about today, too...considering the sheer number of strange and interesting conversations I've had with different people. My mood has also been up and down and forward and backward like no other. Maybe I'll actually be able to sort it out by tomorrow, though, and write something decent.

Or, if I'm lucky, maybe I'll have more than one post in a day, because I haven't done that in quite a while. I really haven't written much of anything with any sufficient content in a rather long while. And I feel pretty bad about that. Oh well, here's hoping that tomorrow brings an end to this terrible streak.

No Time

I was really looking forward to actually maybe writing a decent post today, but...well, that evidently isn't happening, considering the fact that from now until probably 11 pm tonight if I'm lucky, I have no access to a computer. So I guess that this is today's brief rant on the mundane. Not that I have much more to write, either.

Alas, I'm still trying to figure out how to make the best out of a situation and a day that is not exactly the best of all possible situations. I don't know what else to say. On the other hand, someone is sitting here trying to psychoanalyze me. Considering the fact that I know enough about myself and psychology...it really isn't working too well.

It does, however, provide a certain amount of entertainment for me. Maybe that's a bit sad right now, that someone trying to figure me out is entirely ineffective and rather amusing to me. Oh well. I'm not sleeping well lately and there's plenty of frustration to make me rather upset with everything and anything around me.

Alright, that's enough rambling nonsense for one day. Tomorrow is a Friday, so hopefully, I'll have some more time and perhaps a bit of worthwhile thought to write about. I won't promise anything, but I'm hoping to at least make it...less pathetic, less whiny, less angsty, for those who so desire to see that change *cough* in my writing.

Memory

Is it because I want to remember or because I want to forget? What got me where I am today? And what am I still looking for? On the one hand, it all lines up perfectly; on the other hand, nothing makes sense anymore. Then again, I've probably only said, or at least thought, this several times a day for the past week if not more.

I don't even know what to say. The past and the present have blended together, mixed infinitely, and here I am in the middle of it all. Alright, I'll admit it...at this point, I'm just writing for the sake of writing, because I'm making myself continue writing every single day. Lately I just haven't had that much that I've very much desired to say here.

I guess I've had enough thoughts in my head, have remembered enough random memories, but it doesn't really make much of a difference as far as what I write goes. I don't know that there's anything worth saying. And now I've quite literally turned this into a rant to fill up the space. One of these days I really need to sit down and write a damn good post...but today is not that day. Sorry.

Take Me

Drown. Float away into the eternal abyss of flowing water. Wash over the pain, pull into the depths infinite sorrow. No flailing, no fighting, just going down. Down, down, down, spiraling into eternity, losing every sense of air, of light, of feeling. Leaving nothing; nothing but an empty soul, nothing short of a hollow, senseless, meaningless corpse.

Cut. Press the steel against flesh. Pull the blade across valleys of the body. Feeling the skin split and the blood well as the cold metal slides into the life of a human. Crimson rivers, traipsing across the warm surface. The world flows out, flows away. Dripping, pooling, weakening with each second, leaving nothing more than a steel blade, dripping with crimson life.

Fall. Feel the wind hit upon human form. Mere seconds pass, yet the world seems to slow. Rushing to the end, ever running from beginning, seeking the only thing that you can control. No matter, no difference, no sense. The impact determines finality; breaking, shattering, loosening the form that holds together life.

Death. Perhaps the most beautiful thing in this world, or in another. The sheer artistry, the finality, the dread certainty is what makes it fascinating as it is. As it all comes to an end, the world spirals out of control and then the wheels lock and spin...they finally stop turning, and everything is still. The spirit of life, falling away, fading out of existence. And all that remains, is

nothing.

Damn It

I still can't work. I guess this is just bothering me too much. I'm not rational anymore. I know I have so many things I should be doing, so many things I can be doing, but I don't want to do a single one of them. This is frustrating. Hell, I can't even write a half-decent post because nothing else comes to mind.

I don't even know anymore. The only things in my mind are irrelevant, random, and just about everything I'm trying to avoid. And perhaps the most ironic part is that I could very well try and confront the issue, but that would lead to the end of something I don't want to end. I can't let myself do that, if only because it would lead me into a downward spiral.

Or perhaps I should say that the downward spiral I'm on already is prolonged even further. I have absolutely no idea how this happened. And it really bothers me that this is affecting me as much as it is. It's so frustrating. I'm not even bothering to reread what I'm writing anymore...I'm just doing this because I should fill the space and the time in trying to avoid anything and everything.