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.