Wednesday, July 06, 2005

this is me yelling through the melody

i wrote this on jan. 17, 2003.

the days become longer, the nights heavier. i have no concept of time or obligation or responsibility.

it hurts to smile. it hurts not to smile. and although i dance in a storm of confusion that is ostensibly fabricated within the confines of my own head, through the eyes of anyone else, i am not moving at all.

the wave breaks and rolls into itself as my eyelids close, yet nothing is washed away. the ocean has become a pool where things don't ebb, they simply float and get soggy and break apart...tiny pieces of bigger problems floating randomly, bumping into one another and being repelled back to me. i could drown in this pool.

of the things i lack, the thing i long for the most is this: some new, perfect perspective. an orange inferno of a new outlook on life. like that fiery summer day in washington when i realized there might not be three sides to every triangle. the day my imagination expanded as i grew younger, yet matured. the day i decided i was not broken, only broken in.

but there is a difference between being broken in and being worn. my twenty year old mind feels as though it's been running an 80 year marathon. i threaten it by picking up a bottle of the pink, diamond-shaped pills, and it shrinks back into quiet surrender. but only long enough for me to catch my breath and pretend that everything is okay.

and you know it, but are unable to do anything to help. and i know it, but refuse to help myself. you ask if prolonged depression leads to masochism? maybe i was a masochist to begin with? maybe i was always crazy? and you will never know. and one day i won't know anymore. that day we will meet each other for the first time again. shake hands and smile and exchange glances that make us ask, "where have i seen her before?"

and maybe we'll start over. lace our lives together again. but more likely we'll keep walking, puzzled and bothered but unwilling to put forth the effort required. our spirits will tiptoe and look back, but our lives will continue as a sad, partnerless dance, now only a faint whisper of what they used to be.


Jas... said...

God give me the strength to tell you, you are not alone.

for_the_lonely said...

Your words here are profound and strkie a chord of beauty in my soul.

Keep writing..don't stop...writing, like time, heals a lot of emotions. And know too..that all you have to do is say the words...I am ALWAYS there for you.

Love you,

Puffer said...

It's funny how did you respond to this now
I look at some of my old journals and think how much
I have changed and then how I have not changed
keep writing
your good at it!

Sarah said...

Things will get wrote that in 2003...I hope they are starting to for you. Trust me...I am just getting over the fact that I was making MYSELF crazy and was not really's weird. Depression is a tricky motherfucker. Sorry. LMAO! Just the best way to put it.