Road to nowhere

I am horrified.

I went to bed last night, and as I lay, I decided to tell myself a story. As I always do.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my entire life... I drew a blank. I could think of absolutely nothing, and when I put all my effort, all of my thoughts into coming up with just one idea... My brain would stop, mid-thought, and decide that it wasn't worth the attempt.

I think that his words -- that are burned into my mind -- have hurt me far more than I've realized.

He said many things, but one of the things he said to me was that I needed to grow up.

I think that my mind has reached a point where it no longer wishes to hold onto any childish dreams.

I look into what I want in my future, and see NOTHING.

Do you have any idea how horrifying it is, to discover that you have no more dreams?

This is sickening to me. A girl who's always had such a big imagination, and such big dreams; they have all gone. Its terrifying to me.

I always thought that losing him was the worst thing that could happen to me, but losing ME is even worse.

I am on vacation right now. I'm in California. I will be gone until the 20th.

Perhaps I will find myself amongst the clutter of my mind before I return home.

I hope so.

Like a tidal wave, you rip right through me

Sleep is solace. It is a moment for you to break away from the would be “real world” and find solitude in your imagination. To some, it is as natural as breathing; to slip away into a dreamland. To others, it is elusive.

I cannot close my eyes. They refuse to shut.

I lie in my bed and gaze intent at the ceiling, as if I am burning a hole into it.

My mind is blank.

I suppose, that this is a form of sleeping. Thinking nothing but empty thoughts. Dreaming of nothing but what could have been. Feeling nothing but this dull and constant ache.

I do not move for the eight hours I am allotted. I lay on my back with the half moon my only light and wait. I wait until the sky begins to lighten to a pale green.

Then I become alive again. I move my frozen limbs, I climb out of my bed and wrap a blanket around my shoulders. I walk outside through my back door, and scale the ladder of the tree house.

I then watch the sun rise.

A start of a new day in which I will do nothing, talk with no one, and return to my autopilot state.

I feel so hollow. I hate this feeling of not being loved. I fear I will never be loved again.

I have a park in my neighborhood. It is picturesquely placed by a creek. There is a tall, sturdy tree that was born and grown on the shore of this river. It has a limb that hangs over the brook like a protective arm.

I sit there. I watch the water race far below my feet. Sometimes I will throw in sticks or leaves and watch them chase each other.

This is the extent of my life. This is what I have come to; rooting for inanimate objects as they zoom down the stream. I do this for hours.

The branch is breaking. I know that sitting on such a precarious thing is dangerous. What can I say? I like to live life on the edge.

I know that this particular placement is not smart. But I do not care. Perhaps it will snap one day and plunge in the river. Taking me with it.

Yesterday, as I sat, hidden in my tree and away from prying eyes, I went people watching. As I watched, I saw something that tore at me.

They were elderly, and the man held his wife’s arm tenderly, helping her hobble on what looked to be a bad hip. They walked so slowly, and carefully. From what would have normally taken me three minutes to walk, took them over ten minutes. It was not because of their age – though that was a factor – no, they were gazing around at all of the wonderful things that nature had created. They were drinking in all of the sites.

I was still thinking of them, long after they had gone.

They had such little time left, it seemed. They probably had five years tops before they passed on. Yet, they were spending their most precious moments they had left together, in humble admiration at the wonders of life.


So, I climbed out of my tree, and spent the rest of the day walking at their pace, and though I had walked this town a thousand times, I saw things that I had never seen before.

Nature.

People.

Belongings.

Love.

Life.

I stared at each house as I passed, and began to notice things to an extent of feeling as if I was prying into their lives. Taking a glimpse into who they were by seeing this self expression mirrored on lawns, landscaping, open windows, closed blinds, cars, animals, and lack of decoration.

I used to think that every house was just something that was mass produced; everything looking alike. But It was all different. Every single one.

When I finally returned home in the evening, everyone is going about their daily activities.
I realize that no one has noticed my disappearance. No one had realized that I had even left.
I feel like I have become invisible, or am slowly becoming so.

I am fading, I am fading.

One day I will be gone.

~C

On the playground of my broken heart; you are the only resident

Yesterday I died.

It is like a cold invisible hand plunged though my skin and violently tore out my organs. I am now left with this bleeding, gaping hole.

I need something to fill it with.

I am scared that if I do not fill it soon, it will fill itself up with hatred, bitterness or something of the like. Because sometimes, when a heart is broken, and then tries to heal independently, it heals with pieces of glass still wedged in the cracks. Coldness, resentment, and anger are the result.

I don’t feel anything anymore. I am all numbness and meaningless words.

All of my determination and motivation to be better is gone. I just feel dead. Like I never existed.

I will eventually be forgotten.

The hands on the clock spin around so quickly, it creates a black hole which swallows me. Sallow flesh streched tightly over brittle bones, haunted eyes in sunken sockets. My sorrow consumes me.

And I am lost to the darkness.

It is like waking up one day and discovering that you have gone from loved, to not being loved. Such an awful feeling of realization, that strikes me so violently, I am knocked to the floor.

I lay there.

I cannot get up.

There is no one here to talk to. No shoulder to cry on. Because it was my best friend who caused these tears.

Is there any way to make me whole again?

Doubtful.

Yesterday I died,

and today I am re-born. I am cold. I will never love again, and I will never let anyone get so dangerously close as to touch that most wounded and anguished part of me.

~C

I am leaving, I am leaving but the fighter still remains

For the first time in ages, I feel alive. I feel as though I have only just woken from a dream.

Everything I do, I do on autopilot. I wake up, I brush my teeth, I go about my everyday activities, and go to bed. I realize that I live to see the end of everyday; not to see what the day may have in store for me.

This is not living.

This is existing.

I have been given another chance; another chance to be re-born. My eyes are open, but for the first time in a long time, I can see.

I can see that my past is a disaster. If I look back at every day individually, I see nothing; for there are no individual days. There are weeks, there are months, there are even years all compressed together with a memory here and there. I look at my existence now, and wonder how I got here.

But now I see.

I am here -- not because of the big choices -- because of the small choices I've made. The ones you are not bothered to think about. Like the one day you decide to skip a class because you are too exhausted from staying up the night before watching that new movie. Or a single lie that you got away with, that started a frenzy of them.

Small things. Insignificant things. Things that are so ultimately unimportant, it leaves me shocked as to how it could have impacted my life in such a way.

I am changing.

Now that I have been given a second chance at sight, I will not give it up so easily.

I will make everything right again. I will turn my life around. I will become the woman I need to become; I am like a prisoner in my own mind, but I refuse to say silent any longer. No one can tie me to the ground, preventing me from flight. I will wash my slate clean, and rid myself of all of this baddness.

I am freeing myself from these chains that I personally welded together.

I will pack a bag, and hop onto the first train and see where it takes me. I will tell you how it goes.

I am breaking free.

Starting

now.

~C

In wells of silence; loneliness

I love to be loved.

I have always spoken so harshly against those women who migrated toward men -- convinced that they would find happiness, where there was none -- only for the sake of finding someone to cherish them, and treat them with the adoration they so craved.

But now I understand.

Loneliness is the cause for these carelessly handled hearts.

Because I can love,

and love,

and love,

and love,

but never be loved in return..

One day, I may decide to remove my rose tinted glasses, and wake up to discover a life that has been wasted on people who are so self absorbed as to be blind to all the joy that the world so blesses them with daily. Creating darkness where there is nothing but goodness here.

Loneliness is an interesting emotion to feel. You can be vacuum packed into a room filled to bursting with people, or you could be standing alone on a mountaintop in the rain. It is all the same. For people will walk quickly in and out of your life. Like a bad movie premiere. Their faces line the hallways of your memory, like artwork in a gallery. You can be very much alone, where you are not alone at all.

I see now why women need this attention. For what is life, really, without someone to love you?

~C