Is it possible to be a figment of one’s own imagination?
I’m not quite sure that I really belong anywhere. I kind of feel like I’m not here, physically. I can feel my hands move and my scratchy eyelids open and close over gritty eyeballs and even my heart beating somewhere beneath all the layers of skin holding me together. But I mostly feel a cavernous space inside, as if I were a miniature Amy shaped galaxy within a humanoid shell.
Doesn’t make sense, huh? How can I be, and at the same time feel as if I’m not even here? My blindness irritates me, but marginally less than the glasses that don’t properly fit my face and that’s why I’m squinting as I type this.
The weight of expectation will be the death of me. Do this. Be that. Fit the mould. This whole goddamn world is so generic.
I just want to be held. Someone sing to me, quietly. Offer me some small comfort, a gentleness, a tenderness. Remind me of the sweet things. Soothe the wound of endless disappointment.
I’m out of sorts, man. I’m just so fucking sick of everything. I took a tally of how many times I’ve thought about dying this week, and so far we’re at 17. Wait. Now it’s 18.
When it’s not the void, it’s the misery, and if not that, then it’s the rage.
So what do you do with all that anger? Masturbation is a good way to vent it out, sure. But an orgasm or two doesn’t keep the emptiness at bay. Sooner or later (usually the former) it comes back, and then you’re right back where you started.
What do you do when you realise that your life just isn’t gonna be anything other than mundane? How do you get up every day, knowing that today is going to be just the same as yesterday? Running away is a good idea in theory, but it’s a temporary solution at best. Clean slate? Never. You always bring some baggage with you, that’s the inevitability of existence.
I’m just so goddamn tired of being alive.
Small seemingly insignificant things hurt far more than they reasonably should. It’s like having your heart gouged out with a wooden spoon. Splinters are the worst, right? I wish I could just scrub the memory from my brain, but it’s there like a neon light in the darkness. Stupid light.
There’s so much I wish I could say. Not that it would make a difference even if I could speak the words aloud. But the things left unsaid are sometimes the heaviest burdens to carry. So we stay silent. I guess this is just the way things are.
I let you go, not because I wanted to, not because it was easy, but because it was the only way I could survive.
I shattered the illusion of happiness in that single message, and brought into sharp relief that which had been weighing heavy on my heart for the longest time.
I told myself I could live with it if everything stayed the same, but I knew in my heart I was lying to myself. I couldn’t do it. I knew only that my happiness would be temporary, until such time as I became overwhelmed with sadness again.
I let you go, not because I no longer love you, not because I have found someone else, but because it was the only way I could try to move forward.
I broke the foundation of this thing we have created together, and left us both to pick up the pieces and try to forge this new reality from the shards of the old one.
I have hated myself, and the decision I made, from the very second I made it. I wish things were different. I wish things were simple. I am sorry that I have hurt you, that I have ruined things so spectacularly. I have to live with it, and that is my punishment.
I let you go, and I wish, desperately, that I didn’t have to. But I know that the one thing I want more than anything, is the one thing I can never have.
I pass you, unexpectedly, and then I’m gone before you see me; lost in the throng of people milling about in this small, not so small space. I’ve not seen you in a long time, and the weight of reaction is heavy in my chest. I should be over this by now.
My heart drops to my stomach in that singular instant. If it made a sound, it would be the dull sound of a lead ball hitting a carpeted wooden floor. That’s what it feels like, and I know I’ll be replaying those few seconds in my head for days to come. I’m angry at myself for it.
The green of your dress, and the dark length of your hair sticks out vividly in my mind. You are like a beacon in my memory, shining more brightly than anything else of late. I hate that you still make me feel this way, I hate that you still make my heart skip a beat.
I wish you were nothing to me. I wish you were invisible, unknown. I don’t want you in my mind anymore, and I wish I’d never had cause to know you at all.
Words like shards of broken glass, slicing through soft flesh. My heart feels torn, a secret yearning never voiced aloud, spoken only in riddles and penned in hidden pages.
Too long, to long for a dream never realized. Will my life waste away before me, with my deepest desires yet unfulfilled? My time runs out slowly, each second drawing me closer to the inevitable conclusion. I know the truth of it, and yet still, a tiny part of me clings to the hope that perhaps I might be wrong.
A silent scream, laced with the echoes of agony. A broken mind, a broken heart, trapped within an ever decaying body. Wasting away into nothing, never knowing the sweetness, nor the fire. Passions are left to fade into nothing, and it all remains the same.
“One day,” she said, “someone is going to look at you, and see all the things they ever hoped for. You won’t have to spend another night with Loneliness for your only companion, or crying silently in the dark where no one can see. One day, someone is going to choose you, and they will keep on choosing you, every single day thereafter. One day, my sweet child, you are going to be happy. Do not give up hope, nor resign yourself to bitterness. And remember that you are worth so much more than you think.”