I had a really hard time writing this piece and it took me a while. Even though it’s not great and mainly just a bunch of dismal discombobulation, I hope you will enjoy it.
Warning: sensitive material ahead!
Do you ever have those moments of the night when you just want to cry?
From the weight of the stress that binds your lungs and heart?
To let the tune of the tears trickling down your cheeks hush you to sleep?
Your raspy breaths choking on sobs; catch your breath and seep out of your mouth.
Your broken soul escape the prison called your body, spread out, and clothe you in comfort.
The ringing in your ears from all the crying, mesh into a soft lullaby and carry your mind away to an awfully wretched peace.
The most dangerous place to be free,
But safest place to be?
I wish I could.
I’ve forgotten what it’s like to cry.
I’ve forgotten the feeling of splitting headaches after you pour your sorrow out through rugged gasps and sobs.
My mind yearns for it.
More than anything, all I want to do is cry.
I dream of you, you know.
My mind continually pieces those events back together.
Your white sheets,
My white screams;
Silent white noise.
That is the nightmare I submerge into each and every night.
Immediately I climb into the sheets I am somewhere else.
Not one, not two beings in bed, but three.
The order is this: Me, Myself and I.
We lie together in bed, only one pair facing each other.
I face Me, and Myself lays still, staring up to the non-existent stars.
Me (the person others see)
Myself (the person I see)
And I (who am I?)
I am faceless, empty and yearning.
I am an easel to place a painting upon.
I am a canvas, white and unknowing; waiting to be painted upon.
Some days I am Me, other days I am Myself, but never am I, I.
Because I cannot not exist.
Me, Myself, and I.
The Demon, the Angel and the Doll.
Both the Angel and Demon hold me down as he devours my body.
First him, then them, and then the darkness; they all have a chance to tear at my body, turning my soul inside out.
Scraping out my insides, like that of a cantaloupe.
Bruising me and burning out my voice;
Staining sex into my memory.
Tarnishing my flesh and purity.
I can never tell if this is ever part of the dream; whether it starts with me climbing into bed with these creatures, or I lay with them before they toss me into mayhem.
I can finally feel myself lulling to sleep.
Exhausted beyond definition;
Fatigue, fatigue, fatigue.
The already present bags under my eyes pulling me down.
As my body sinks into the sheets.
Me and Myself have have gone away.
But I know they are around somewhere,
These phantoms who cloak themselves in the darkness of my soul.
Some days are better than others.
Happy days! Oh how I love happy days!
Happy days come from happy nights.
Happy nights come from an absence of nightly terrors.
And an absence of terror means sleep: a luxury I rarely have.
Some days all I feel is frustration:
Instead of receiving the love I yearn for, all they do is leave.
Why would you leave, how can you leave when it’s obvious my “I’m fine” meant “Help Me”?
…Or was it the same concept when he said my “No” meant “Yes”?
I am in a constant state of thirst.
But it is a thirst no food or drink could satisfy.
I have constant desire to touch.
A constant lust to feel.
But you’re dirty.
On those nights when sleep leaves me and I lay for hours, alternating back and forth between sanity and insanity, I open up my Bible and read.
I read to sanctify my soul.
I read to seek refuge.
I read to feel safe.
(And although the feeling of preservation never lasts, it heals; even if only for a brief moment, it heals).
Those little moments are all it take for me to look forward to the nightmare of my psyche ceasing; to where day breaks, and sunlight meshes with the dark of night to create dawn.
Or when the pitch of my morning alarm reminds me to not miss the bus.
What hurts the most is that the people you choose to let in don’t believe you.
Or they make it about them.
The supports you expected the most refuse to acknowledge you need help.
And when someone finally reaches out to pull you from your despair, you refuse it, because every time you get pulled from one darkness you are plunged into another.
It’s just another endless cycle of pain.
So you stay numb.
Because what you don’t know can’t hurt you.
Because what you have known, has hurt you.
So stay numb.
You’re already cracked, and if you’re not careful, you will crumble.
I’ve always lacked the words to express how I feel, even when seated everyday in a room among minds with no veil.
A class with people who know how not just to speak, but to feel.
I watch as these people evolve and grow with time.
Their hairstyles change, voice, relationships and mind.
I run along with them in order to match their heartbeat; in order to not fall behind.
I’ll change my hair and try a new lipstick, take up a friend’s suggestion and DARE.
But to these people I wonder at times if I’m even really there?
The days pass and graduation fast approaches;
And I stay frozen in time.
My life is a night that never ends.
I’m not sure if I’m actually even here,
But my nightmares will keep me alive.
Pain is my only reminder of my existence.