Today has been heavy. I fell asleep with a heavy ache in my soul. I laid down, drifted away into another place that wasn’t my room. I don’t remember if I even brushed my teeth, which is rare because I’m all about oral care around the clock. I woke up feeling tired and empty. Why am I always so empty?
Even when I begin to piece things together, and it starts to make sense, it begins to break apart just as fast, and I can’t hold onto it. It’s like trying to keep sand from slipping between your fingers- you never really had it to begin with. Only a few specks remain in the waves of your palms.
It’s like these sequences and patterns in my life look at me, and watch me believe in something that’s real and is soul-quenching, only to take it back and say, “No. You don’t deserve this. This is only reserved for people who are worthy. You’re uninvited from all the happiness you thought you could ever have. How dare you think for one moment that you could actually keep this?” I guess that’s the ugly truth in life, nothing is really ever yours, is it?
You want to hold on, embrace it, love it. You want to open yourself and be vulnerable and allow it to search every part of your soul. You want to become one with the motions and energies that surround you. You think you are. But if you look closely, there’s always the fine print. It sleeps there, and lingers in between the words you hear and see. You thought you had it all figured out, but you really don’t. I don’t think you ever really do.
You see, you just can’t hold onto to anything. People, possessions, places. They always change, they always fall apart, and they go through experiences that you don’t always notice. Nothing is concrete or permanent. And as much as I try to accept that, it scares the living shit out of me. I long and crave the security knowing someone or something won’t fail, won’t change its mind about me, or won’t wake up in the morning and tell me everything is different. But we always let each other down. Things break and fall apart. I’m doing my fucking best to accept it but each time my heart breaks, it hurts just as bad as the first time.
Lately though, I feel I’m breaking my own heart rather than allowing other people to. At least in this way, I have control over what pain damages me. I’m taking my aching heart and strangling it until all the blood soaks out, I can watch it suffer. I can watch it lay still and lifeless. I can bury it. If someone else does it, they don’t get to see the great downfall. And that in itself hurts because they have no clue how they have the ability to destroy me. To love and to trust… You’re giving someone a gun and hoping they don’t shoot you if something changes. I’ve handed guns to too many people in my life, only to die over and over and over again. I don’t want to give someone that chance to kill me, when I can do it myself.
This heaviness remains. I can’t shake it off today. These thoughts are suffocating me and I can’t puncture through these walls so I can get fresh air. What’s wrong with me? Why have I created this agony? Where did it all begin and why won’t it go away? It won’t ever go away, and I’ve accepted it. Let it live here, let it kill me again and again. As long as I can breathe in between the murderous blows, then I’ll have the chance to embrace the beauty of life when it comes back around.
I keep looking to others to fill me up with love and validation. When they leave, all of that goes with them. When I go away, my own self-love leaves me, too. There’s not much in there, but even I uninvited myself from feeling loved. I abandon hope in anything that could potentially lift me up, because what if it doesn’t? What if I created this fantasy all in my head because I think it’s going to be beautiful? It’s like me starting a painting, getting the outside and then fixing the details before the big picture has been completely laid out. Then I get frustrated and throw the painting out because it doesn’t look as good as I imagined it would. Then I hate myself for being a shitty artist and not trying hard enough. Then I hate myself for being a shitty person and not trying hard enough, or being good enough for them or for myself.
I slip away into the night unnoticed, looking for the stars in the sky. I whisper all my worries to them and give them the remaining light that swims in my soul. At least when they have my energy, they can heal it and send it back my way so I can open my eyes in the morning and invite my world back in. I’m like a vampire, exhausted and thirsty for something more that will keep me alive. That “something” isn’t blood, though.
I’m still wondering, waiting, and searching for that “blood.”
Will it invite me in as I stand in front of it?