I've Realized Now I'll Never Become Anything

I tell myself, not to wallow in self-pity.

Words that seem to echo in my mind every time I hear them spoken. Those words always comes from the same person; the person in my life that means everything to me. That person doesn't know the meaning of life, nor do they know when they're taking things too far. Covering up the wrong and desperately trying to do what is right becomes just another daily routine, a ritual that's slowly evolving into reality.

Rock-bottom is when someone is at their very lowest and there's no possible way they can do anything else that will take them down even further. Rock-bottom isn't anywhere near where I am, but it is where that person is living. Deep down in a black hole that's sucking the life out of them slowly, and they don't even realize what they're doing to their body, or to their mind. Or their life and everyone that is in it.

The secrets are a constant dwelling that never seems to subside in their life. Bottling everything inside the body is what's making this more difficult than it needs to be. The lies play another small roll, unfortunately not made by me. But thinking this over, and replaying this so-called movie multiple times in my mind, I wish that it was.

I wish it was me who was going through this tough time. I want me to be the one who takes all the pain, all the guilt he has and all the sufferings he goes through away. I would trade places in a rapid heartbeat, just so he wouldn't have to live like this anymore.

He's destructive to only himself, yet caring when it comes to others. His sleepy smile he wears constantly makes everyone who doesn't know him think he's normal and okay. But it's just a cover up, one of his many. His soft spoken tone of voice deceives all people who he speaks to. Those people who are foreign to him wouldn't understand that deep inside, underneath his slightly tanned flesh, demons float and take over his body.

His hard life made him who is today. And by any means, it's not his fault. The chaos he created over the years is not entirely his fault. And when I say that to others, I only receive a look that says "I'm crazy" in response. The divorce was just the beginning; a start of a new chapter. One he's still writing and trying to end the corruption of what he likes to call his life.

Slowly, these problems of his are turning him into a monster, one that won't be able to be tamed or to be stopped. He's filled with confusion that rips him to pieces at times. And it's rather hard to see him go through this day, after day, after day. It's a poor lifestyle, and he cannot go on like this forever.

And that's where I come in. I'm not a psychologist or any type of medical doctor; I never continued school after I received my diploma for that matter. I'm just a person who knows and completely understands the real him. The person that only shows his true side to himself, I understand. With much difficultly, I spent so much time graced with his presence that I can look deep inside to find his soul. And know that he is just a man who is trying to find the part of him that's missing.

Lying down in my bed, bundled in the blankets and hugging an extra pillow in the dark with my eyes wide open, I think about him. Wondering if he's okay. Hoping, and praying to God that he didn't go off and do something stupid. To hurt himself again. Faith is all I need to bring him back, to make sure he comes back safely without any cuts and bruises, or gashes in his hands. He doesn't need this.

Tossing and turning, I get distracted by the toggle of the front door knob. I propped myself up on my elbow to listen closely, loosening my grip on my pillow as the door is loudly swung open. Screaming through gritted teeth and loud pounds is the only thing echoing throughout the apartment at 3:15 in the morning.

He's home.
Craigery Michael Owens, is home now.