The Void.

I look at you. I look down. I look at myself. I look away.

I try to meet your eyes, but the path into your iris is dead. I think I killed it on my end before we locked our visions together. The road is lost. I laid it to rest because why try when it won’t lead anywhere? Your eyes… they saw straight through me, past the truth I held deep inside my heart, waiting for you to find it.

It’s just the same when I look into my own lifeless, colorless eyes.

Why try to fight for something, when it doesn’t even want to fight for you? I’ve used up my energy. I want to care, I wanted to care… but now I just don’t. I’m failing. My last blog entry is the polar opposite of this. And ironically, that’s the story of my life. I go from one extreme to the other end. I’m a walking contradiction. Things are bursting in color and everything seems so clear and starts to make sense.

…Until it doesn’t anymore. Then everything is just grey again. I can’t think straight because my head is trapped in thick fog. It doesn’t matter, does it? It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when you’ve become colorblind.

I feel like I’m trapped in Pleasantville (movie); a fictional sitcom that is based on town that is black and white and is drab and boring. Everyday it’s the same, nothing shifts; only inside me is there a silent storm that is unseen to the outside world.

Some days I’m bursting with color; my existence becomes a beautiful piece of art that I proudly hold up high… but eventually, the emotions and colors slide away down the drain, and out comes the black and grey. It oozes from my eyes and swims in what used to be the crimson that flows through my body. I’m plagued and there is no escape but to surrender to the shadows.

My reflection is there, but I don’t see it. The little girl I was, the woman I am isn’t there. None of me is real. Nothing feels real here in Pleasantville, where ironically enough nothing is pleasant, at all.

And when I’m on the outside looking into the real world that’s exploding with color, I am unseen. How I wish I could bathe in those luscious tones again. But it’s not so easy when you’re drowning in the shadows of those colors. Because, really, all those beautiful colors cast a shadow… and that’s where you’ll find me.

I’m so tired. Tired of trying. Tired of fighting and dying, again and again. So many battles I’ve lost. For every battle I’ve won, I’m just impaled again by the destruction of the next one that finds me.

I don’t mean to drag you down, person reading this. These words are all I have to offer from the sludge that won’t let go. I know you don’t understand, but this is my small attempt to deliver my message. I simply can’t get up, I don’t have the energy. I’m small and my strength has abandoned me. I’m sorry, and I know you still don’t understand… just as the black mud forces its way down my throat, suffocating me. I’m slipping further under it, watching as you stare blankly at me and turn away. You don’t understand.

The world is slow down here, in this dark and desolate dimension. Imagine Eleven from “Stranger Things.” She is lost in a void of blackness, only sitting in a shallow pool of endless dark waters… terrified. That’s where I fall into when the world loses its vibrancy. In this place, I try reach someone who will hear me. My messages don’t always get through. The connection fails. I am alone.

In the void, nothing matters. Not in any sense, shape or form. Your messages are unclear. The silence is deafening down here. Your voice is silenced. Confusion is a state of living. There is no time. There are no senses. Nothing makes sense. You may vaguely hear words, but you watch them as they float away into the darkness. Nothing can touch you there, nothing wants to touch there. There is no life, there is no chance of resuscitation.

When I’m not in the void, I split each moment into a thousand just so I can savor every detail. But when I’m sucked back into the void, those moments aren’t there. They are out of reach. There is no recollection. Nothing to hold onto. The moments and memories are swirling up above the black sludge. Locked away and only allowed when I resurface…


The world I once knew has been forsaken from my own grasp.



“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”
— Happy Mask Salesman / Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask




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These are the musings of a 32 y/o dreamer, wisher and doer. All my posts are authentic; I write what's in my heart.

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