Be kind with me, be gentle with me.
By the time I discovered I needed this sign it was too late. The shattered shards shone in the moon light. Everything looks beautiful in the moonlight, even glass bottle spread across the black tar of the road. Beauty: a word I have often heard, but so much deny exists anywhere near my person. Only one can penetrate the barrier surrounding my pit. The walls enough to cover an ancient castle, but for naught I am in the mud cowering in the corner. Even though there is no way for the walls to be dismantled I hide in the corner for fear of someone coming in on the attack.I am already exhausted from the battle that does not exist. My walls hide me from the world I don’t even know exists and yet I am shaking. I get overly worked up and then apologize. I cry my eyes out then slap on a smile. I’m so used to the “I’m sorry” before there is anything to be apologetic about. I am already used to the covering my eyes as the rainstorm begins in the room so that no one else gets struck by lightening. I am so used to the lies that I can’t believe anyone ever when they tell the truth. Unlike most, when they are together until broken, I am shattered until someone can find the goddamned glue to stick me back together. I am a tumultuous, rocky mountain high as the waves crack my surface. I take my heart and shake it out telling it to stop listening so much to my brain. I constantly think that I am not worth it, but my heart knows better. My brain likes to hate everything I do. It shows me terrible images that I would run away from. It would be different if any aspect I had a single create bone in my body, but I suck at creativity and lately the words have run away like a prisoner sentenced to life . I am stuck in a literary prison. Where the hell did this all go? Words, media, pictures, art I got this, I had this, I had.
I believe in everything I have ever committed to. No, that is a lie. I lie, I lied, I have never lied. I am a liar in my own right. I am finding my voice to express how I feel, just bear with me. No matter how much I chip away at the wrongs inside my head it seems as though there is never anything better uncovered below. When I set forth working through it all I hoped there was some gold in the depths of my soul, but now I am questioning the logic of finding the shiny glass in the grass behind my house and thinking it was beauty. IT’s beautiful, I AM BEAUTIFUL. I AM WORTH IT. Why can’t I feel this way? Why does the worth of my soul require the effervescent words from someone else to give me five minutes of hope before I am thrust back into the paradox of the grand jury facing the trial head v heart. I once was good at so much, but now I am so bad that I have no desire to continue doing what I once loved. I can barely get myself to care anymore. All I want to do is be around Alyssa which I’m sure is more time than she would like dedicated to me. I am not reflecting on her or anyone specific. I am reflecting on myself. As much as I never feel I have any time I know I have too much time alone to think inside my head. I have too much time to reflect on every syllable, action, or emotion that has ever occurred in my lifetime. Each breathe I take is a fight I have within myself. The battle is lifelong, but I know it won’t always be misery. Before this week I had been having a fantastic succession of being in an amusing mood. Things had been pleasant, but people around me know I don’t believe in the system of things are good. It has been proven in personal experience that whenever something is going really great chances are something is going to come along to not just test you, but to completely rupture your world. You will be pushed into repeatedly uncomfortable situations which will be used to test what is really important to you in life. I know what is important. I know what I care about and how I need to be better for that, but I need people to understand that it isn’t just me being selfish or mean when something happens and I get upset, I honestly am the type of person who hates change. I like schedules and I like things repeating. I hate when shows get cancelled because it makes me feel as though something is missing. My brain gets disrupted when I am forced to change and when people expect the change instantaniously with no conversation I freeze. When things change in this way I just shut down; I stop what I am doing in order to maintain from being hurt, but often end up hurting myself in the end. I am used to being hurt, I just wish there was a way that I could fix my brain so that I wasn’t always hurting myself. When all people look for are scars they don’t always pay attention to the sallowness in your eyes, how weak your voice is or how hard it is to swallow. When all you want is to hide in the deep hole surrounded by the towering walls what are you supposed to do when someone climbs over with the intention of saving you?