At heart, I've always been a coper. I've mostly been able to walk around with my wounds hidden, and I've always stored up my deep depressive episodes for the weeks off when there was time to have an abbreviated version of a complete breakdown. But in the end, I'd be able to get up and on with it. Could always do what little could be done to scratch by. But perhaps that is a problem on its own. People don't seem to see through it, seem to understand the definition of a facade. The ones who express themselves seem to think they always have it worst, yet they too seem to have everyone watching over them. How ironic.
I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how dumb life can get. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep keeping on? I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't. I don't want anymore vicissitudes, I don't want anymore of this try, try again. I'm so tired, I just want out.
I wish I could rip out my heart and expose everything within, for someone to finally understand. I'm so sick of talking things out and trying to explain the way I feel. I'm so sick of complex analogies that I come up with in relevance to my predicament. I just want things to be simple. I just want to be surrounded by people who understand. But I'm not. I come home with the heaviest of minds', to an empty room and an emptier bed. So much silence around me yet so much noise within. I never got the help I needed or perhaps longed for, yet I seem to have everything in control in the minds of everyone else, even the ones closest to me. It seems like I am only strong because it is my only option. And because of that, it seems like I have everything in control. It seems like it is the reason people are able to brush my emotions aside. In the end, nothing is really what it seems.
I walk around with the heaviest of hearts for reasons I wish I knew. My vices were never a problem, they were my solutions to problems and without them I can't figure out an alternate universe where I can face reality. Addiction is a disease, it is like cancer. The same way depression is. Everything starts off slowly and then all of a sudden it spirals out of control. It becomes so insidious, and it compounds daily that an end seems impossible. The fog is like a cage without a key. Nothing seems to fade away. Nothing ever seems to take it's rightful place among the pantheon of experiences that constituted my 21 years. It's all still with me, the storage space in my brain crammed with vivid memories. I wasn't just the mad woman in the attic, I was the attic itself. The past all over me, under me, all inside me.
Why couldn't we look like how we feel? Wouldn't that be easier? Wouldn't it be easier if we looked like we walked through a broken window and slashed by sharp, broken shards. Perhaps we could then look like we felt. What does everything seem like to a normal mind? I need to know, I need to know the difference. Does a normal mind exist? Or do we all just suffer from these insanity on different levels? Is a normal mind a constricted one? Are my perspectives simply different or are they just downright insane?
I woke up one morning, afraid to live. Afraid that this loneliness I once embraced would rob me of my sanity in time. I was afraid of reality, of facing it sober, of facing it high. I was afraid of sunlight, and of darkness. I didn't like people around, I didn't like to be alone either. It seemed like nothing could ever be right. I was so in need of someone to be my saving grace, so adamant on the fact that I couldn't save myself. And it was clear that I had to do it on my own when everything around me collapsed. But it hit me that this is perhaps an ongoing process, one that goes on forever. One that only death would put an end to, and only with death comes peace. A tiny drop of sadness, drop by drop accumulates, first a lake and then a river. When you look back and can't figure out what even happened, it would've turned into a sea and then an ocean - one that is never ending, one that if you aren't careful, could very well drown you. I wish I made sense. But I guess I only make insanity seem fascinating.
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