As It Seems
Nothing Is
The feeling washed over me faster than a car crash. The urge to walk off into the night, leaving everything behind, drove me forward. I should say it rode my mind like a prized bull. I hadn’t felt this way in years. I thought I had gotten over this. I lived like I had gotten over this. Apparently that was all a lie. I was never going to be over it.
Was that too much to ask? Wanting to get over those feelings? I don’t want to kill myself, but the feeling is there. It scares me. The thought crossed my mind for the first time since I was 17 tonight. It’s been almost four years. I thought I was healthy. I guess I faked it so much for everyone else that I started to believe it too. Seeing is believing, right? I saw myself as happy and healthy so I believed it. I should have remembered that appearances aren’t always what they seem.
What comes next? The two halves of my brain are in a civil war. The rest of my body is just waiting to hear the outcome. Will I getting this frightening urge under control and repress it? Or will I be left to the mercy of that black abyss which threatens to overtake me?
I wish the world would stop trying to interfere. This is my battle, mine alone. So what if you think I should share the burden. I know I can’t. I’ve tried. I sat and stared, attempting to force the words from my mouth, but only silence spewed forth. The most I could give is a whimper and even then it was meek and unworthy of being heard.
I was a walking contradiction. I’ve realized that so there’s no need to tell me. Repeatedly. I couldn’t practice what I preach when it came to this. The one area that my heart and mind agree one was probably going to kill me. Dying was what I wanted to avoid. I knew that. But how did I cope with having to neglect a whole part of my being? Wasn’t that the same as killing part of who I was? So either way it went, part of me would die. The only question was: when? When would the final push come, shoving me off the cliff?
I fought the tears vehemently. They are what clued me in to this internal war. I didn’t cry for anything. I didn’t like crying. It put me in a spot where, if someone saw me, I was vulnerable. That’s something I would never know how to be. Vulnerable. I could tell you anything about me, but don’t ask me to do it with actual feeling. That wouldn’t work. In that scenario, I would clam up, stumble over my words, and eventually look like an idiot. No, feelings were left out of any talk where I was the topic of conversation.
Maybe that was my mistake? I buried my feelings so far down inside to hide the bad ones, that I forgot what the goods ones felt like. I didn’t know how to experience the good anymore. And when the bad started cropping up, I had nothing to shine in their face to block their path.
Listen to me. Hearing all this negative talk could make a person think I was miserable. I wasn’t. I had a good life. People liked me. People loved me. I never understood why, but they did. That’s the only reason I was still living. Because other people thought they needed me. But was that really a reason to kept trekking through a life I didn’t want to lead? Because other people would be hurt if I left? I seemed to think it was. It had been my driving factor for years. Stay strong because they are counting on you. That’s what I would tell myself. Whether it was actually true or not remains to be seen.
I had hidden myself so thoroughly in living my life for other people that I forgot where I hid the real me. Maybe that person slipped into the abyss. Maybe they were calling out to me, begging for help. How did I tell myself that I didn’t know how to help? How did I tell myself that I was incapable of getting help from someone else?
I had always told myself not to be a burden. Eventually a wall built up with one way streets into the city of my mind. I could take in anything, but nothing would ever leave. Including me.
Was that too much to ask? Wanting to get over those feelings? I don’t want to kill myself, but the feeling is there. It scares me. The thought crossed my mind for the first time since I was 17 tonight. It’s been almost four years. I thought I was healthy. I guess I faked it so much for everyone else that I started to believe it too. Seeing is believing, right? I saw myself as happy and healthy so I believed it. I should have remembered that appearances aren’t always what they seem.
What comes next? The two halves of my brain are in a civil war. The rest of my body is just waiting to hear the outcome. Will I getting this frightening urge under control and repress it? Or will I be left to the mercy of that black abyss which threatens to overtake me?
I wish the world would stop trying to interfere. This is my battle, mine alone. So what if you think I should share the burden. I know I can’t. I’ve tried. I sat and stared, attempting to force the words from my mouth, but only silence spewed forth. The most I could give is a whimper and even then it was meek and unworthy of being heard.
I was a walking contradiction. I’ve realized that so there’s no need to tell me. Repeatedly. I couldn’t practice what I preach when it came to this. The one area that my heart and mind agree one was probably going to kill me. Dying was what I wanted to avoid. I knew that. But how did I cope with having to neglect a whole part of my being? Wasn’t that the same as killing part of who I was? So either way it went, part of me would die. The only question was: when? When would the final push come, shoving me off the cliff?
I fought the tears vehemently. They are what clued me in to this internal war. I didn’t cry for anything. I didn’t like crying. It put me in a spot where, if someone saw me, I was vulnerable. That’s something I would never know how to be. Vulnerable. I could tell you anything about me, but don’t ask me to do it with actual feeling. That wouldn’t work. In that scenario, I would clam up, stumble over my words, and eventually look like an idiot. No, feelings were left out of any talk where I was the topic of conversation.
Maybe that was my mistake? I buried my feelings so far down inside to hide the bad ones, that I forgot what the goods ones felt like. I didn’t know how to experience the good anymore. And when the bad started cropping up, I had nothing to shine in their face to block their path.
Listen to me. Hearing all this negative talk could make a person think I was miserable. I wasn’t. I had a good life. People liked me. People loved me. I never understood why, but they did. That’s the only reason I was still living. Because other people thought they needed me. But was that really a reason to kept trekking through a life I didn’t want to lead? Because other people would be hurt if I left? I seemed to think it was. It had been my driving factor for years. Stay strong because they are counting on you. That’s what I would tell myself. Whether it was actually true or not remains to be seen.
I had hidden myself so thoroughly in living my life for other people that I forgot where I hid the real me. Maybe that person slipped into the abyss. Maybe they were calling out to me, begging for help. How did I tell myself that I didn’t know how to help? How did I tell myself that I was incapable of getting help from someone else?
I had always told myself not to be a burden. Eventually a wall built up with one way streets into the city of my mind. I could take in anything, but nothing would ever leave. Including me.