Thinking of him gives me strength and vitality I need to go on. He makes me feel safe and secure even when he is not with me. Or maybe it was me then, when I knew him, safe and secure in myself and with others. I miss her. And him. But upon reflection, mostly her.
Years and years of being alone hit me at once like an icy tidal wave. Upon impact, I feel the weight of being truly alone for the first time, coupled with reverberations from years gone by. All the feeling I’ve denied myself over the years surfaces as one festering, deprived mass.
I’m at the bottom. Trouble is, there’s no bottom to the bottom. I can descend lower and lower if I let myself. It’s all I can do not to drown.
We’re not safe. The security isn’t there. I feel it wavering.
Let’s just say that things keep me up.
If only I can shun them, dismiss them, and let go as easily as I have before, for these very things invoke unprecedented self-loathing and confusion.
What happens is, my world flashes before my eyes. I then feel haunted and simply cannot lay down to get any sleep.
Sometimes, I’m exhausted. Other times, I try too hard to distract myself with mindless material so that I can still my mind enough to get a little shut-eye.
Then, inevitably, I am disgusted and repulsed at the human condition. The cold forming inside wraps around me until everything seems bleak.
When I’m out and about, driving along, I keep my eyes glued to the rolling hills and picture what must lay beyond them. My gaze follows birds flying through the light blue sky. There isn’t a single cloud, a far cry from how I feel.
To forgive or forget? To bestow that sliver of forgiveness to a rare person? Or to save it because there is only so much forgiveness to go around. Imagine one doling out forgiveness to everyone who asks. That would be a dangerous game, and hardly a sustainable one.
I gravitate toward pockets of goodness, happiness, and warmth in a cold, overwhelming world. I make my way to those pockets, whether they be in people or places, but don’t drain them of what they offer. I give back and stay true.
Which hurts more? Crying, or when you’re about to cry, and must stifle the urge?
I keep climbing the steps. I lose sight of where it is I want to go. All is inadequate. I advance, hoping to find the perfect spot. My legs ache. I pass floor after floor. I’m hungry, thirsty, and tired and it’s like I can’t go on. I no longer see what’s in front of me. I no longer think. I progress aimlessly, internally hoping that someone will stop me. Waiting for any distraction to deter me.
I look at myself and see deficiency after deficiency. All I can think about are the places I haven’t gone, the things I haven’t done, and everything I haven’t yet tried. The people I’ve failed and who’ve failed me.
These considerations fueled me. I’ve functioned for as long as I could on these alone.
Heartbreaking, I know.
Every new heartbreak hurt but infused me with shots of pain and anger to persist.
There’s nothing sadder than holding onto empty hope because you fear you may disappear without it. It’s the last remnant of warmth and humanity that remains.
If I could eliminate feeling, I would. Not to mention, thinking.
I’m consumed by the competition life can be. I must outshine and win, defeating any threats. I can’t let toxic people with mal intent do better. I question what I’ve become. Can someone find me? Can I find myself? Can I retrace my steps from where I started and not be lost somewhere fearsome?
But then a little blessed bird, yards and yards and yards away, reminds me that I should only ever compete with myself. And that’ll be enough. My time will come if I keep believing, focus on the life I’ve built, and live each day with love. I won’t pay haters any mind for my own sake.
Neutralize the noise.
