The fine line between black and white.
That moment when you feel so scared about every decision you are about to make. I don’t know how I find myself here. No, I lie. I’m here because I came so far, I let myself get here and for some reason it doesn’t feel like I expected it to. I’m a human being. We all are. We are different, with similarities here and there. Explain to me why it’s so hard to be yourself. No one wants to be just another Barbie on the shelf, same old, used and abused ever smiling.
Last night it felt like there was a spirit looming about, I felt like I was being watched, like something had latched itself onto my back. I felt down and heavy. Sad and scared out of my skin, that wasn’t all.
I craved nicotine, wanted to be alone with my thoughts and all the mini reasons left to convince me not to cut again. I am here I uttered. All the other parts wanted to come out to play and I kept telling them that this was my territory. This was where I could really be me so they had to let me face my fears alone. I was vulnerable. On the edge, waiting to discover what lay in the story. I was reading the lines as I wrote them. Greedy bitch, don’t they tell you? You can’t have it all.
I felt… weird. This morning I broke down. I can’t help it when it happens. I feel like all the scars I hide on the inside are all over my skin. Everyone can see the cuts and bruises, the rotting skin and the ailments, the reasons why I cry myself to sleep some nights. I can’t have anyone seeing me like that so I sit in bed and try to think of happy moments with tragic endings. And lie and try to lull myself to sleep but I see death scenes of all of me from past lifetimes. They are real, I am shaking, my eyes roll back and I flutter back into reality hitting the wall like a wrecking ball breaking down walls I wanted to hide behind. Truth is I am alone most of the time. Truth is that feeling is worse when I’m with people I can’t let my guard down in front of. Truth is. No one understands and I’m okay with this, I can’t keep dumping it all on people who’ll tell me to snap out of a phase, a feeling, a hormone, or tantrum.
Its okay, I say to myself till I believe, but I see the blood and the scars. I feel the metallic wetness. I feel hot and flustered. Truth is I’ ashamed. How do I let emotions have full control over me? How do I not fall under its spell? It’s a sinking feeling. One I cover up with I was sick, and I think the cold is getting to me. Yeah, sure, I was really tired; the sports from yesterday killed me, when in truth I was tired of life. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suicidal. I just get tired of life. Living is easy when your bruises and cuts have healed. For some of us, those never do, they grow with us. Eat us up alive. We become cadavers walking smiling rotting with each faint heartbeat.