2004-06-03
Macabre
I see this: life everywhere as the bright colours combined with the summer�s dryness and heat to give the impression of something unique and beautiful. Summer is always like this--always giving you a reason to be happy with its intense blue skies. I can only see blue--no clouds rolling about. Every breath I let out feels so heavy--like lead.
I walked straight up to the window and forced myself to find reasons why life is not depressing, and the words �because the sky looks lovely� came out of my mouth. That the reason today, and tomorrow there will be a different one. For the first time on Monday, I felt dread consume me--I haven�t felt that in quite some time. Dread is fear, hate, anxiety, and physical lethargy all mixed into one.
Sobs pound from my inner depths, yet I stifle them, not permitting for them to be freed. I am scarred, this is how I will continue to live until the end of my days. When desolation and that desperate yearning to commit suicide creep upon me, I breathe deeply and grind my teeth. My right hands balls into a fist whilst the left clasps tightly around it--my body�s subconscious and feeble attempt at self-alleviation. Waiting a few moments makes the feeling go away, and sometimes if I am lucky enough, optimism will follow. I am beginning to sweat now, I can feel it--my body becoming sticky and cold. I write this down because it is simply the truth, and there is no one that will judge me--people only read these words, yet, I needn�t confront them to face their stares.
A macabre soul that yearns for pain, yet screams wildly when it is present. A thick mist that smells like blood penetrates into nothingness, and it all ends up in absolute darkness. I cannot continue like this because it takes so much away from me, and I don't feel that any of it is fair because I'm only eighteen and have too much ahead of me already--that's why it's not fair.
I resent the fact that everytime I tell my mother she dismisses my pleas to go and see a psychiatrist because she believes that I am "fine", and that ultimately things will fall back in place because I'm going through a "phase" at the moment.
I'm not...and I'm afraid of what I may someday do. I am afraid of being this type of person and to keep perpetuating this type of mindset. I don't want to commit suicide but at the same time I do. The desire is there, because nothing about the future excites me anymore, but I never go through with it because I'm much too afraid. There's still a small spark of hope within me that wants to live. Only, I dread that my fears, my apathy, my torment will grow so enormous that they will all extinguish that last flicker of hope--then I am left with nothing.