Sometimes I empty myself out. Not in the purpose of letting people know what tears me apart each night, but in the terms of letting go of my feelings until I feel nothing at all. Until everything is gone and I'm sitting in a darkened room of who I used to be. I stare at my paper, knowing I need to write something out, knowing I have things to say without speaking them aloud. And there are days were I write and write, mostly words forming to structures of meaningful lines of endless poetry, and I pour my heart out in hopes that one day I'll find someone who can clearly understand the storms that shatter my heart and the darkness that consumes my soul. Though, there is a blurry line between my life, and I find myself asking if its better to have an audience of my thoughts or none at all?
I jump from start to finish. Somehow my existence cannot hold onto itself, can't pick a life to live. I'm here and I'm not. Depression can grip me like claws and anxiety can force me beneath the depths of the endless oceans where I drown, and I can suffer to the point where I feel nothing at all, or everything all at once— to the point where I'm at the edge and deciding whether or not to jump. I look in the mirror and I see a girl who's every shade of everything, yet no description can quite fit who I've become. I'm staring at a girl I've used to be, and I no longer know who I am. I'm waiting for the day I can finally find myself, finally be me, but I keep finding stones tied to my feet. I keep swallowing what I thought was air. I'm lost, living in the shell of my former self. Do I shied myself away or do I break the shell and escape?
I try to find myself, my place, but everywhere I go feels like a mistake. It's right, then it's wrong. I'm running in circles trying to become someone I'm not, because every direction doesn't feel like home, and I'm wondering, where do I belong, hiding in the shelter or out amidst a thunderstorm? They tell us to follow our hearts, but what happens when our hearts broke a long time ago?
I've learned over the years that people cannot handle the demons in my mind, much less understand it, and I keep clamping my mouth shut despite wanting to spill the truth of how much it hurts. I listen to the words as everyone tells me to hold on and breathe, when they'll never understand what it's like to drown in these waters unless they, too, experience it themselves. They don't know what's it's like to breathe smoke and ashes, how hard it is to keep going when the worst things happen, a tornado of hurt and confusion swallowing me up until there is absolutely nothing left.
Perhaps its possible to lose yourself. We begin to lose touch with reality and what matters. Where do I stand amongst the world of people and faces and harsh truths blurred around me? Would it matter if I thinned to the length of a thread to keep in touch with who I want to be? And if a silence filled the air, do you think that they would care? Would they even know?
Sometimes I try to find a way from it all. I delve into a reality far from my own, fade away to black, but I'm suck trying to figure out if its worse to feel nothing at all or everything all at once. I'm waiting and waiting to breathe fresh air, but everywhere I look is polluted with hazy and unwanted memories. If I wave my hand, the smoke might clear, but only for a moment. Perhaps its impossible to breathe fresh air after the debris had already fallen upon me. Perhaps I'm stuck, while the pollution thickens and begins to envelops the world itself. Is there any way out?
Sometimes I test the waters, see how deep I can go before I shatter once again. A scar adds a memory, and I hold my breath, waiting for my heart to heal, yearning for that tender kiss to fix my soul. But can we be fully repaired of the damage we've built upon ourselves over the years? Can we fully be healed? I've been marked with labels and written of facts and I watch as people find someone in me that I don't. I fall apart and lose a piece of me, forgetting how fragile the flesh and bones of a human may be, and I'm still deciding whether to hide away or let the sun touch my skin. Do I tell or do I let the silence take its toll?
Where is my place in the world? I seem to stumble and fall under the eyes of the people and I cannot find a balance between living and existing. I wipe the labels off and start anew, but I keep finding myself in the same place, wandering the same fields and crossing over the same old maple trees. I'm running in circles searching for someone who is not me, trying to find lyrics of songs that touch the soul only to see that nothing quite fits. So I listen to more music, trapping myself in a shell, hoping to find the right words that condemns a deeper meaning to myself than anything else, yet the search is unmatched.
I'm questioning where I can go in a place like this, where I'm constantly asking how a world so beautiful could possibly be so cruel? I'm looking for those pairs of eyes and that fallacious smile but there are hundreds of faces surrounding me and I know you're too far gone. So if I break and don't make a sound, does the world hear the wrecking havoc, or do all you see are a fragile-skinned girl with no place to go? You look into my eyes knowing they can speak far more than words ever will, but all you see are the sun and moon, though you forget that the sun yearns the moon and that the moon may be beautiful but better off alone. So, I ask, who do you choose?
Maybe I'm still a sprouting rose, and I'll find myself soon, where my petals bloom in the sun. Maybe the light is still shaded from the clouds, that it's only a matter of time.
The world evolves and time goes on.
I'm still finding my place.
