Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Bone Weary

I'm so very, very tired. I'm tired of trying to believe that I'm part of a world that cares; I'm tired of being shown that they couldn't care less. I'm tired of being plagued by things I want to forget. I'm tired of living the way I always have; I'm tired of being overlooked and forgotten.

It's difficult to have faith in humanity when no one shows you that they care. They have all said that they do, but when the time comes and they have an opportunity to show it, they scatter, scampering away to their hiding places like birds taking flight in fright. You stand alone, watching as they leave you and wondering why they couldn't stay. Obviously some words mean nothing to people and some promises are only made to be broken. I stare at all that's shattered, the fragments catching the light from the floor and reflecting it so it dances across the ceiling of the prison that's been built especially for me. It's a prison with walls made of empty words, with doors made of the ghosts of people who said they'd care, and windows, especially barred so that you could forever look out onto what they were excluding you from. They've since dubbed the prison "Loneliness" and left me to its devices. I wonder if there are other inmates. I try to remember whether mine was a lifelong sentence.

But perhaps I am destined to be bound to something else for all eternity. For, how can one be rid of wounds that do not heal? In the dark they festered and refused to close. Now their poison has entered my blood, and I fear I am slowly dying. How remarkable that memories should inflict so much pain. How remarkable that ghosts seem so corporeal. Fear eats at me, that I might some day run into you when I'd much rather keep on walking. Thoughts of you are so saddening that they drown out any happiness we might have had. I tried so hard to cut the ties, but despite everything I have attempted, the chains will not loosen. Something keeps me tied to you, and I cannot comprehend what it is, but I would rather it vanish and leave me be. How did you drive yourself so deep into me that I cannot now remove you? Those shackles you put me in that keep me chained to the wall of my prison, chaff at my wrists and ankles and continually my blood seeps from the wounds they make - the wounds you inflicted. They weigh me down and hold me in fear, they keep me always restrained. It would seem that they've been dubbed "Regret".

Perhaps what's worse than those shackles and that prison is the cage my mind had created for me. It artfully created a mould and for so long I have grown accustomed to that position. But then I had eyes to see, and ears to hear and emotions to feel, and I see and hear and feel that this mould is not right for me anymore. Try though I might, it has started to grow around me and imprisoned, I cannot easily escape. It puts its hand upon my heart and at its touch my heart turns to lead and grows heavy within me. Sadness overflows from its depths and Happiness flows along the tidal wave of Sadness, tiny specks that drown and, leaving my heart, float away into oblivion. Despair soon arises and usurps the throne of Hope, enslaving me to its every whim. All I want is to change direction, to creep forward from the shadows of the stage to the edge of circle of light, to be seen a little more and appreciated for my minor role; to hear at least one person applauding for me. I won't ever be extroverted, but I'd like to at least be glimpsed every once in a while. My mould forbids me, and I believe it has been dubbed "Depression".  The chance of love seems so very far away and I cannot help but envy the sinners.

So you see, I'm very tired. Perhaps I shall just plonk myself down and wait until someone passes by and notices me sitting by the side of the road. Should they be the right person, they will ask "what's your damage?" then reach out their hands and pull me to my feet, helping me again along the beaten track; one comrade supporting another. They'll pull me until I can make it on my own, or else they'll help me across the finish line. It's only a matter of time. For each of what had bound me, I will plant a white willow and bury the chains within the ground so that the tree might obliterate it. And I would be free.

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