Pieces Of Me [an online journal of sorts]

Entry Eleven: sick

Some days I think I'm getting better. I honestly believe that I am... happy, I suppose.

But then I don't get better, and it's like my vision tunnels and everything is bleak and dark, and I'm not entirely sure if the bright thing I'm seeing at the end is the light that'll lead to my escape, or light reflecting off the rocks I'm going to slam into when I reach the end of this hole.

And the worst thing isn't the uncertainty of my fate, or that I'm afraid of what the latter will do to me. In fact, it's the complete opposite. I want the pain. I want to hurt in so many places I don't know which injury is making me scream. I want to fall and crash and be enveloped in a cacoon of agony.

I want to feel again.

I'm tired of getting teary-eyed and not knowing why; sick of overreacting at stupid situations and having no responses when I should be perfectly able to conjure one up.

You know, if I could be granted a wish, just one, I would wish for an actual working time machine that could bring me back to when I was four years old and nothing made me sad.

That would be nice, I think.