One-Hundred Days

I want nothing more than to be alone, honestly, and this scares me. I want nothing more than to cry, but I can’t, I can only turn away and close my eyes and feel my heart and eyes sting. I can’t breathe wrong without getting cut down or coddled. I need to be alone. I need solitude. I need freedom.
I haven’t written, something that lately has been the only thing keeping me sane. I haven’t listened to music, which I have been doing every day for the past seven years. I haven’t taken photos for my own sake, only for the expectations and memories of others. I have had no outlet, and all I can do it stare at the television with only twenty channels and wait until my mind goes numb and my eyes fall closed. I need to be alone so that I can go away from judging minds. These people are my family but they are the most judgmental of all. I know now that they are wondering what I’m writing as I sit on the edge of the bed and try my best to keep my keyboard quiet. I need to be alone but surrounded. I need the outside world, places outside of this sweltering southern town, although really it’s more of a city than any one I have ever seen.
I need to get away, take a walk, stay alone in a quiet theatre. I wish nothing more than to be with my friends, not my family, the people I know, the people I’ve chosen, but in reality, I have none. I have none that do not make me as numb as the family I am with. Though they will leave me be when I cry and when I write and when I sing. They will leave me be to my devices and outlets and only wait until I am finished, not come in the middle and ruin the process that I go through to get rid of my heavy heart and mind.
I wish I could sit still and empty like the family around me. I wish I wasn’t so easy to cut down, and I wish the front I put up was true. I wish that the things that have changed my father never happened. He is more hateful than I remember, but he hides it well, I suppose. He hides it behind laughs that never reach his eyes.
But I have never received sympathy so I shall not offer it.

I want to sing and cry and write and shout everything from the top balcony of this hotel. I want to open my eyes and stop holding back the tears. I want to open up my mind and let everything pour out onto paper. I want to open my lungs and scream everything I have ever thought into the storm that is swirling outside. I want to stand inside of it and get swept away, leave my roots behind in this unfamiliar town and go back home, a place I have yet to find. But I will find it, and it will welcome my roots into dirt so clean that it’s not even definable as dirt. It will be diamonds and rubies, my mother and I poured into one. My roots will find their way into something they’ve never known and they will rest their heavy hearts so that I may lay peacefully. I will float off into the storm and let my roots wrap around the skyscrapers until they find their diamonds and rubies. I will let them free, and I will not be held down by a town I have always held no desire for.

I want nothing more than to be alone, to be scared and have only myself to curl into. I want to learn to rely on only myself and my roots. I want to find my place in this world and lay peacefully in the dirt until my time comes to make a difference and to scream everything I have ever experienced.
I will wait to be alone and I will wait to find my place, but I will not wait for inspiration, for it has already ravaged my mind and left it empty, cold and shivering in surprise.