Somewhere To Write

Posted by Anonymous on 2012/11/04 under Uncategorized

I wake up in the morning and I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, but the person I see staring back at me isn’t there. It isn’t me. I feel so trapped, like I’m on one the outside looking in watching myself try to live. I feel sometimes that the blackness is sucking me in, swallowing me whole until I’m gone and I’m not myself anymore. I can feel myself slipping away with him, with her. I can feel them tearing at me when no one is around. It feels like I’m being stabbed repetitively and walking around with the same wounds. But no one is stabbing me. The wounds were just never healed from the stabs and I’m walking around bleeding my infection on everyone. And when I finally feel like my wounds are healing, he just comes back and rips my stiches out and I’m left there bleeding alone in silence. I’m bleeding out right in the middle of everyone screaming for there help and there all just making their phone calls and living there shallow lives. I’m trying to forgive them for just walking by me, it’s not their fault they can’t hear me. Maybe I’m not shouting loud enough, or maybe their own wounds aren’t healed completely and ill tear them open clawing maliciously at them. I am trying to forgive them because I walk around acting as shallow as they are. That’s why I do my hair every day. If they didn’t know I wasn’t as shallow as them would I be an outcast? If I was separated for all this shallowness would I drown in the deepness of my own severity. Would the blackness drown me and torture me and cut me in silence? It feels like I’m drowning now but every time when I’m about to go away the darkness laughs at me and lets me take a breath before I’m divulged into its darkness again. Almost like its mocking me, calling out to me laughing. It feels like I’m in this huge crowd of people and I’m standing there completely alone. That’s why I make the jokes, and tape on this fake smile for all these fake people like I’m Mrs. Potato head. And my owner picks if I’m wearing a smile or not. I guess I’m afraid that when all this is over I’m not going to be me anymore. I’m not going to wear my smile as well or do my laugh like it’s supposed to sounds. Like I’m going to be damaged forever. I’ll always have these scars. They don’t just go away, do they? At least I’m done with the crying, that might have been the worst. The tears that came when no one was around, that no one could see. What would they think of this weak little girl? So I kept crying myself to sleep. Like my tears would make it all better. Pathetic, I might as well have drowned in self-pity. But all my tears are gone now like I cried them all away. But sometimes I think the tears would be better, the sadness. It’s better to feel something than to feel nothing at all. The emptiness hurts the worst it makes me feel like I’m completely gone. Where did I go? Did the blackness swallow me? Did he take me with him when he left? Why aren’t I good enough for him to stick around, was it something I did? My mom says it’s not my fault but why would he leave when it’s my turn? Why does he only come around like one day out of the month to see me? Am I that bad, that destroyed? I feel like I’m walking on the ashes of my family I can still feel the heat and burn of the fire and I see the ruins. All the ceilings are black. All the walls are black. All the floors are black. And they’re closing in on me.

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