Rant 3 - The Dying of Him

If the world came crashing down every time I became a heart-broken fool, it would be completely demolished. And yet as it is, my own world stays forever intact and unbroken, but it seems that it just suffocates me instead of assuring me that everything in my life will be perfectly fine.

And all these walls keep closing in. How many times has this cliché analogy been used? Whatever the amount, it is only used so many times because it is completely true. Whenever he comes in, those walls creep in just a little closer because I’m not able to pay attention to them enough. Someday, those walls will leap when they are as close as possible and snag me with their hidden teeth, tearing and snapping at my writhing body. But I, I will be gone already, so they will only brawl over an empty carcass.

When I look around my room, my happy child-like room, it just strikes me how unalike they are to my true personality. If I had the time and the care I would probably strip my walls, my real walls, of their gaudy photographs and smiling pieces of paper. They would be bleak and white. No, they would be bleak and a graying, diminishing white; a white that’s not even there anymore. And my books, as precious as they are to me, will burn up in flames because they do not fit his example of a perfect, yearning young woman. They are fictional, unreal, and not helpful enough in conquering a world of hypocritical evangelists—not in a religious way.

But it truly does pain me so when his rarely seen softer nature is exposed. Over the last few years or so, that soft seen has become less and less easier to spot to the extent where you wonder if it ever even existed. I am so afraid, so very afraid, to become a person like him. To concentrate your whole life away to becoming the best and never stopping to reach out and laugh and play and be happy would be a most tragic thing. It would stop you from being a living, breathing, feeling human being. But beneath this entire angry exterior, I can see so easily a hurt man scrambling to take what he has lost, although he has become blind in the process. He cannot see all the pain he actually causes and what has become of the people around him. They are deteriorating. They are losing grip on who and what they are and reluctantly succumbing, not to what he wants, but the consequences of what he wants so badly.