theshamelesswanderer

The Musings of My Mind

Category: Despair

Numb.

A box filled with anguish landed in my palms today.

Suppressed feelings of dreariness emerged and down the black hole I went,

Spiraling down into obscurity.

This cocoon of gloom never strays because it knows I never will.

I may flirt with tranquility, fluttering my wings into communities of others who don’t feel like me,

My doubt is pushed past, my fear ignored,

But the many masks of a dancing fool can never truly disguise

The numbness.

 

On the outside, I am holding onto a fantasy with bleeding fingers.

All the while, Emptiness cheers.

She twists and shouts along to the music of Hopelessness.

Somberness grabs Rejection, leads her into a dip

And my nausea sets in.

The spotlight shines on Burden and Grief as they

Seemingly float across my heart,

And the crowd goes wild.

I take deep breaths and try again to ignore

The boom and bass of Brokenness’ drum as it

Creates an entrance for the shrill cymbal of Numbness.

But the whole gang erupts in celebration, and I become small.

 

I melt into the box and allow myself to find comfort

In the most consistent emotion I try so hard to conceal.

The numbness breathes life into me and I oblige.

It reminds me I am nothing, and I harbor it in my head.

Deeper and deeper, down into the emptiness,

Tumbling past my corpse of what was

And falling into a pit of what currently is.

You.

I lie next to you, watching your chest rise and fall with every shallow breath you take. You sleep soundly and peacefully, but I am paralyzed. My courage is rendered useless against my aching heart, beating only for you. I want the courage to walk, to run, to flee into the wind and taste the freedom of breathing without it hurting. I lie next to you, fighting the urge to cover your mouth with mine…line your lips with my tongue.

Hate him. Hate him.

I can’t. I can’t do anything but taste the resentment in my tears as they fall, fall, fall…building a wall between us that sooner or later, I will tear down. I lie next to you, broken and weak, surrendering the best parts of me to you and giving myself the remnants I don’t dare share with your light.

Leave.

And then what, I ponder. If I do, I’ll continue to be trapped within the bounds of my deep emotions, all of them spelling out your name. My thoughts imprisoning me with images of your smile…your beauty. I am defining insanity by continuing to give you peace while I run myself ragged, but I am stuck. I am frozen. I am awed at my fear of taking a single breath without you by my side. I watch you breathe deeply, wondering what tales are unfolding in the four corners of your curious little mind. A scream is caught in the back of my throat, a blow is trapped inside of fists, a better version of me lies within…but all I want to do is love you. I want to wrap your arms around me and feel your heart beating against my back. I want you more than I want me.

You’re crazy.

I know, I know. I’m weak, soft and foolish, defining insanity by lying here breathing while you torture me unknowingly. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do so I lie here. Paralyzed. Crazed. Afraid.

Hopeless.

In love.

Loss.

I feel like I’m losing everything. I think despite everything that has happened within the last year or so, I’ve done pretty well with containing my emotions and not allowing it to stop my progress. Though, there are nights like tonight when it really just seems like everything has crashed and burned. On February 11th, my cat had a stroke. I dropped her off at the veterinarian so she could get spayed and I wish I could say that I had a bad feeling about it or like I felt like I was making a mistake, but I felt relieved. I was relieved that she would stop peeing in the house, that she wouldn’t go through heat anymore, and that I wouldn’t have to worry about her going out and getting pregnant. A few hours before I was told I’d have to pick her up, I received a call from her doctor and she told me they encountered a few issues during the surgery. When I got there, I thought my cat was dead. Her little eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling, and they were void of any vitality or buoyancy. She was hooked up to an IV, she had bandages around her little leg, and she looked so fucking dead. Right there in that moment, I felt my heart break. I felt it shrivel up and die inside of me. She couldn’t walk, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t meow, she couldn’t do anything. She wasn’t Lola. She was there, I could see her. But she wasn’t Lola. For the next two weeks, I lived in that hospital. I came in everyday, stayed until they closed, and I tried to get back what they took from her.

Things have gotten better, but they’re not what I’d like them to be. She’s still blind, she still has trouble walking and keeping herself upright, I can only give her water through a syringe, she still doesn’t meow, and she doesn’t know how to use her litter box anymore. There’s a bunch of other shit, but those are the major issues I’ve having trouble dealing with. You can imagine what my room smells like. Anyway, tonight is particularly torturous because she’s been having seizures all day. There’s medicine she’s supposed to take for that, but what I have here for her isn’t working. I can’t refill her prescription without the doctor signing off on it and she definitely would have, but I don’t even have any money to pay for her medicine. I sit here and I watch her die a little bit more each and every day and it just hurts so bad. I can’t explain the pain that courses through me every single day, but I imagine it’s worse for her. Everything about her is so sensitive now so I’m always worried something will happen to her. Maybe her lungs will collapse, or maybe she’ll die in her sleep, or maybe…maybe I’m killing her. I know this wasn’t my fault but it feels like it. When Lola came into my life, it felt like she saved me. I didn’t feel alone anymore because I had her, and she had me. I’m not at ashamed to say that she’s my best friend, but what happens when you’re faced with the decision to kill your best fucking friend? These last two weeks have not been easy. My mom has a heart condition and she was hospitalized last week because of it. During that, I would leave my house very early in the morning and come back late at night. I’d come home in the middle of the day, but Lola wasn’t receiving the care she deserved. That’s when I began toying around with the idea that I should euthanize her. And even just saying that, like are fucking kidding me? First, I lose my relationship, then I lose my dad, and now I have to figure out if I should kill my fucking cat? It’s just too much. I feel like I’m falling apart. I feel like I’m breaking into two pieces and I don’t care to salvage it. But I have to because I have school and work and my future and all this bullshit that I have to constantly fucking worry about when I just want to die all the time. I don’t want to feel this anymore. Most of my day has consisted of holding Lola as her tiny little body just convulsed and acted with a mind of its own. I know she wishes to be running up and down our house like she used to, playing around with anything that catches her eye, curling up to me at the end of the night so we can go to sleep.

I still curl up with her now and it feels just as real and amazing as it did before. Sometimes when we’re sleeping, she’ll try to resist the cuddle but then she’ll fall into it and just let herself go. She’ll nestle her little head into my neck and just lay there. But I never get the sense that she’s lying there peacefully. She always has this far-away look in her eyes and it’s like she’s thinking of her old life and that breaks my heart. Whenever she has a seizure, there’ll be a moment right before she breaks out into the full thing and she’ll look around frantically for me. I go to her and pick her up and kiss her everywhere but it’s like she’s begging me to make it stop. She’s waiting for her mom to protect her and I can’t. I can’t do anything for her because I took her life away from her. I’ve always imagined Lola in my future, and now that there’s a really big possibility of that not happening, I don’t really know how to make sense of anything. She’s such a good girl. She doesn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you, Lola. I’m so, so sorry.

Feeling defeated.

Echo

Your voice echoes in my dreams.

The sound of your laughter haunts me

And finds me in each dream sequence

Making sure to remind me that’s the only place

It’ll ever frequent.

The sight of you is now fuzzy and gray.

It has disappeared in the restless fray,

Beside you and my heart…

Which are all along for the joyride

That continues to destroy the state of my being.

I feel you within me in some moments.

But in others,

You are what you’ve become

And that is when I unravel

And become undone.

Your voice…

It echoes in my dreams.

It slowly withers away

As the sun rises and dreamland fades,

New thoughts emerge,

But they drown in the waves of

Everything that depraves me

Of normalcy.

So I sit. And I wait.

For the sound of your voice

To romanticize my mind

Until dawns early light

Allows me to wake.

And you, yet again, manage to escape

7:55

On the outside, I’m functioning. I walk, talk, breathe and speak like the rest of the people in this world, but on the inside, I’m curled up in a dark corner. I haven’t moved an inch from my rusting, dingy post since last fall, and every time I think I might’ve slayed the dragon within, it finds a way to pull me back in. It speaks to me in a low, coarse tone, expanding the shrill fear that is embedded in my blood. It furthers my sick belief in the validity of my insecurities, and then, I am stuck. I am left rocking back and forth in the corner of my mind while I smile and wave politely at the onlookers from here to those beyond. But on the inside, I’m drowning and sinking in an ocean of doubt and self-hatred, and it feels so…good here. I’ve cried sordid tears of blood for years, and over time, those tears have formed a batch of their own, forging the self-destruction that was created at the hand of my own knife. So really, this is all I know. I might even call it home. I often wonder what life was like before I allowed my brain and my innocence to crumble under the tyranny of my weaknesses. When did I stop fighting the good fight, only to go to war against myself? I’ve called to the gods of the world begging for a life other than mine. Perhaps a bird who is unrestricted by all other than the limits of the sky. Or maybe, a shoe, or a pair of eyes to see the beauty in all things dreary, ears to hear the music in all that has been silenced. If just for a moment, I could not be me, perhaps I’d understand how I allowed the demise of my soul. Everywhere you look, there are magical words of wisdom and encouragement that are supposed to raise you up from the ashes of a hypothetical death, make you shiny and pretty, and then send you off into the world to be brand new. A “new you!” they say. What they fail to understand is that when you’ve squelched your own light by choking it with the darkness residing within, there aren’t any amount of adjectives and verbs that will make you love yourself. There isn’t a step-by-step guide on how to wake up every day and not want to die. Just once, I want to look at myself and be grateful for my existence. I want to relish the accolades that I’ve redeemed rather than be misunderstanding of how a person so emotionally and mentally distraught could be worthy of such things. Ah, and there it is. The truth has spilled out. I am completely unworthy and undeserving of life and breath, but for some reason, I am still here. There is a war going on at the top of my staircase, and a small child looks on with glassy, hopeless eyes. She gazes at the filth before her and understands that life will never be the same. And right in front of the gun-toting, blood-stained monster, she kills herself before it killed her. Knowing she’d never win was more than she could bear.