I don’t think people realize that sometimes the person who suffers the most is the one who is happiest on the outside. It’s a mental thing. Maybe trying to look content will bring real happiness. And why share any of that pain because nobody really wants to know about it. Besides the human body is capable of handling an incredible amount of pain, stress, and can survive many volatile situations. So holding it in becomes second nature. Every ounce of pain gets stored. Filed away in the recesses of the mind. Guarded under lock and key, and preferably forgotten for as long as humanly possible. Well if getting rid of feelings was that easy I think the world would be a much different place.
I’ve always abhorred the idea of self-destruction. Why would someone want to end things when life is so full of possibilities? But I think when you find yourself with no way out it becomes almost impossible not to think of it as the only option. There are only so many times you can break down. Eventually you hit that threshold and find yourself on the precipice of something unknown. Because when waking up feels like entering an unending hell, there is no going back. Here is the real clincher. All it takes is a moment. Just one second. A single step forward, one pull, one swallow, one cut, take your pick. Sounds incredibly simple.
Isolation is like a double-edged sword. Or rather, isolation is like a drug. It draws you in. Promises a respite, calm, and peace. Since when you find you brain practically melting from the overload of noise, imagery, and sensation, you simply turn off the television or computer. Could work the same way with your brain. You don’t want to feel? Don’t worry just bury yourself within yourself. Make your mind and body a temple of isolation. Become the fortress of solitude. Run and hide from everything that could be drudge up an unwanted memory. Don’t believe those lies though. Isolation is not a friend. It is the friendly stranger at the bus stop with you that is making polite conversation. Little knowing that the small talk is a front to the wrong end of a knife. That is isolation. You sucker yourself into a false sense of security, or at least you become content with a false pretense. Slowly and surely that knife reaches a vital organ and you find yourself unable to return to where you came from. So you try to run. Run as fast as possible back to some semblance of reality. But you’re going in circles. Lost in a labyrinth you created with your eyes closed. All you find is nothing but everything makes you tired. Tired down to your bones. Tired down to your very soul.
I’m so very tired. Tired of losing a battle I don’t think I ever had a chance to win. Tired of fighting a war that means too much. Tired of knowing that in the end the casualties are much too personal. So very tired of hearing that 15 months means nothing. That time is the great leveler and all things eventually fall. Sick of the fact that one thing could knock down the empire you helped build. The kingdom that was your playground is reduced to ashes in front of your eyes and all you can do is watch as those walls crumble around you.
It’s true I made mistakes. I have done things that I regret. In the end I was still proud of who I was. Still happy and optimistic. Still able to breathe in the morning and sleep at night. Now all I feel is me coming apart. Slowly and surely slipping into a dark, dark place. Was I really nothing? Am I really nothing? You make it so easy to hate myself. Almost as easy as it is to love you. But I’ve never felt more unloved, more unwanted, more worthless. I doubt myself too much now. Can’t even think straight. I can’t even fucking breathe. Every inhale is like the one right after holding your breathe for too long. Greedily, hungrily, desperately trying to get that life’s breathe. But whatever gets into your lungs chokes. It doesn’t help at all. You try again and again. Oh so futile the attempts are to breathe. And when you don’t think you can last another minute you implode. Like the big bang. Slow but steady. Rumbling through every fiber of your being. Threatening to reverse almost 20 years of life.
Yet death is so final, and yes life is full of possibilities. I want so many things in life. The simplest things are the things I want. Just give me a nice little house. Let me work a decent job. Let me have some wonderful kids in my life. Let me raise them, play with them, teach them to ride a bike, drop them to school, console them when they cry, be there when they laugh, see them grow up, marry someone they love, get visits from the grandchildren. Let me grow old myself. Move to California. As south as I can get in Cali. Let me set up shop on a pier by the beach. Nice little ice cream shop where I can live out my days. I want to read interesting books, watch awesome movies, sleep in till noon. I just want so bad to be happy, but it’s hard.
Have you ever wanted to be someone else? I think everyone has at one point. Just for an hour, maybe a year even, be someone your not. What do they feel? What do they know? Who are they? What it really is about is the escape. The idea of losing one’s own burden. Because sometimes being yourself is like being a piece of shit. It’s like crawling on the bottom of the ocean sucking up the sand, dust, and dirt for food. Trying to live on the fringes of everything. Like how pathetic is that? To want nothing more than to jump out of your own skin and crawl into the skin of someone else.