I want to write, and it not be pain or sadness.

Advertisements

#009

“I’m fine!” I shouted into the abyss. My deep breathes and silence was all that was left. I shouted again. No response, not even an echo.

I waited. I waited days and nights. The sun would set and darkness engulfed me. In the morning I’d be surrounded by swirls of mist and fog. I waited for an answer.

Doubt began to creep in. I started to think I truly was alone, that my efforts were foolish. I was a fool for believing in the words of old. “The abyss will also gaze into you.”

Discouragement overcame me. I did not leave though, for there was nowhere else for me to go.

One dawn, before the sun had awaken, as I sat near the edge. Mist curling and unfolding around my figure. Looking beyond. Thoughts of defeat filled my mind, just as times before, and with a sigh I whispered to myself, “I’m fine.”

Suddenly, I heard it. The softest of replies. I peered downward, seeking the voice. I heard it again. My heart quickened. Had my patience finally paid off? Truly, was I not alone in the darkness of my soul?

A warm touch came upon my shoulder. So gently I did not notice at first. But this caress was not from the abyss in front of me.

I turned and the warmth fell upon my face. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon. Bright and burning.

“Are you okay?”

 

#008

It’s 3 weeks til the end of the semester. I just need to hold my shit together for 3 weeks. Then I can go through whatever mental episode I’ve been holding off for weeks.

It’s bad tonight. All that static and white noise in my brain, then the burning rage because I can’t get it to stop.

Every instinct in me is telling me to tear apart this room, break everything I can, and then proceed to punch a hole in the wall.

But it’s midnight.

And all I want is to get past the anger and the bitterness.

Why the fuck am I like this? Why do I keep failing?

Honestly, I hate writing like this. Because it feels like shit and I see no beauty in the words. It’s me admitting how messed up I am. I’m not ignoring the ugly parts. It’s all the jagged pieces poking through and I can see all the damage. And I hate it.  I hate looking at myself and saying I need to get it together, because I’ve been saying that for the last 6 years. I’m tired of dealing with the same depression. The same thoughts, the same questions, the same fears. Fuck. You think some progress would’ve been made.

You think writing it out would help. Getting it out would release some of it. But it doesn’t. I’m just as angry. I still can’t think. My brain hasn’t slowed down.

It’s midnight and I’m burning.

 

 

#007

Sometimes all that’s left is sadness.

It’s night. I look over all that I haven’t accomplished and all my failures. It weighs on me. I am weary.  I should’ve been better, stronger.

Now there is nothing left.

I wish I was past this. There are days and weeks I feel like I’ve made improvement, that I’m moving forward. Then a week like this comes along. Without warning, those dark clouds are back, surrounding me and my thoughts. All hope, all positive thinking seem to be  swept away.

I am very tired, and I cannot sleep because tears burn my eyes.

I saw the Divine’s hand this morning. He touched purple clouds and turned them gold.

#006

I reminisce a lot. I go over where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and how I’ve felt. I try to make sense of my past to try and understand why I’m here. Why I’m like this. Am I better than before? Or worse? Have I made progress?

Sometimes, I do it just to make sure I’m real. Silly notion I suppose. Things can get so convoluted, some days I feel like smoke. I can’t seem to grasp who I am. The past and future don’t even register as blips on the map.

Even that same day will feel unknown. Imagine floating in space, but with out the stars and light. Directionless, aimless, you can’t tell if you’re even moving or not.

Recently reminiscing, I found a poem or free verse I had written my first year at college, about having a panic attack at Chick-fil-A.

Community place
friends, family, co-workers
Every table has that
I sit alone, company of a book
And a voiceless phone
Rabble of voices over shadow me
Hordes of patrons break my thoughts
I make no sound
Barely daring to breath
Hands that make no mess
Fearful of a mistake
Tummy rumbles
Fingers tremble
I wait
For courage
Then eyes fill the room
I can’t

I’m definitely not saying, “Hey read this, I think its good.” I  think its rather sub par.

I think its important, as far as case studies go, to have an understanding of the history of the individual.

 

#005

I’ve just now, started noticing the sky again.

It was a beautiful day. It could’ve been raining or gloomy but I remember it being beautiful. I was warm, down to my core. A peaceful happiness was spreading through me. We had just finished laughing. After nearly a half hour of nonstop talking we settled into a peaceful silence, taking in each others presence.

As one does in shared silences, I stared off into some unknown distance. Perhaps some shade of green caught my eye. I looked back to you and found a solemn countenance watching me.

In moments like these, between intimates, I believe a mood can shift. Even a conversation can take place in silence.

We looked at each other, the way one truly sees another. Past the surface, beyond the facades, right up to the front door of the soul.

There you whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

I know. Me too.

Then you asked, “Where have you been?” Even though you already knew.

Someplace dark.