All I feel is hallow.
How do you say “good bye” to something that supported, and in many cases, caused the last six months of my life to be so significant? How to say “good bye” to memories that were once attached to your surroundings that will now be attached to a place that used to be? The backyard will be the hardest to let go. Every conversation that took place outside sitting in a patio chair with cigarette in hand will be remembered. The words that leaked out into the air has subsequently been absorbed into the earth where they’ll continue to reside. The same with every other memory that each room will hold on to in a permanent way that I cannot. If there was a way for me to take a piece of this home I would. I’m forced to let go of another safe place. A place that I grew to appreciate and love. Somewhere that was entirely mine, a place that I called home at the end of the day was never mind to hold on to. In the end I’m forced to leave, to say good bye.
A thin layer of covering drapes over them all. Just enough to keep everything below the surface, but not enough to stifle their breathes.
It’s December and the cold winter is stealing away my warmth. Holidays, carefree days and decorated houses are usually here to warm me up. Instead I’m left here with nothing but the bitter cold sneaking in and occupying my head. Only visible breathes escaping my lungs and numb finger tips seeking the warm comfort of home.
If we were all playing for the same deck, this house of cards that delicately balances wouldn’t always have to come crashing down.
I force myself not to write during the day. Once everything is said and done there’s no where to hide. The darkness is not there to hold me closely where no one can see. My mind is coaxed to retreating in, to hide away. Folding in on it’s self repeatedly, each fold being harder than the last to bend. With hopes that every time the surface area is shrinking thoughts will go away. The black landscape of my mind shrinks in size but increases in density. Now I’m lost in a black hole. I’ve contained everything forcing it all to only occupy one inch. Pleading if it were all condensed together it’s weight on my shoulders would disappear. Instead the weight intensifies along with the static sound humming in my head. So loud it blurs my vision altering my perceptions of reality. Nothing is real. The static shrieks knock me off balance. The only way to get rid of static hum that screams from the black hole is to let it go. I’ve accepted this, but I hesitate. Without the black hole what would be left? I’ve created a place to shrink away, it’s not safe but neither is anywhere else. This dark pinprick of heavy words has now become a place to hide.
I’m craving a 5am conversation where the words I speak surprise me. When things are unearthed that have been lying dormant for too long. When light is found in dark places. When the bleak thoughts are replaced with growth. When feelings of isolation wither away with the sound of a comforting voice.
I’m filled with meaningless words. Words piling up in the sides of my head. Getting in the way. Rolling around from side to side. Crashing from left to right. Empty words that I’d wish would flow away. Instead, stuck. Filling my head and clogging my speech. Fear they’ll be released and will run free. I have really nothing to say.
I can feel it creeping in this time, eating away at everything good. It’s moving slow but it’s a strong mother fucker. I can’t stop it this time. I don’t want it to stop this time.
I can’t do anything without questioning my intentions. I can’t make a decision without thinking why I’m doing it. I put so much emphasis on the “why” that I forget to deal with the situation at hand. I’m so afraid of acting irrationally or allowing my past influence the way I process new information. Everything turns into a fear that I’m acting irrationally or allowing my emotions to dictate anything in my life. There’s a constant rumble in my mind of self-doubt and loneliness. No way that I can assure that my actions aren’t ripple affects of everything that has ever been said to me, or done to me.
I’ve never felt so content with the people I choose to surround myself with.
I was just that side street they accidentally turned on once and they’ve never been back.
It’s sickening how much the tree of my upbringing creeps into my daily life. Everything I consider to be normal or second nature was once little seeds sprinkled into my mind. The seeds were never mine to own. They were never my responsibility to grow. Still those seeds rooted deep, deep inside. The roots wrap and entangle my actions, my thoughts and my reality. Slowly growing and wrapping all through my insides altering my perceptions. Seeds that came from another set of roots, roots that were so warped and twisted that spread to everyone they touched. The seeds transferred through words. The words flow from her mouth filled with seeds looking to be planted, searching for a dark place to reside. Landing and nestling into the cracks, curves and crevices of my mind. Until one day they’re no longer someone else’s seeds, they’re my roots. Wrapped and entangled. No longer knowing what is reality, what is perception.