Saturday, 1 June 2013
08:23:06 PM (GMT)
I wake up again and it feels like I haven't slept. The same distinct fog covers the
place where my emotions belong. I'm used to the safety blanket; feeling is scary.
Apart from rage. That I can live with. I live with it, and other's die by it. Or at
least they do in my mind. The thoughts paralyse me apart from the familiar twitch of
muscles, eager to move, and never satiated. Perhaps that's a good thing, but I've
never looked far into it enough to tell. I can't even remember what you've told me.
Perhaps you think it's a joke like everyone else. I want to prove that it's not, but
then I get trapped here. My mind carries on through the door, and my body is stuck
behind the invisible forcefield that stops me from everything and anything. The one
thing I feel that contradicts everything else.
Now I'm awake. Always trust the urges to wake up my brain from the cloud of sleep. So
I'll listen to sad music in the hope it makes me sadder, and avoid the happy music in
case it makes me angrier. The world has no right to what I can't obtain, unless I can
have it too. Jealousy was always my weakness, but I'm not scared of letting you know
that. Then again, I'm strangely not scared of you knowing any of my weaknesses. Logic
says you won't manipulate me, but paranoia says you will. I listen to both devils on
my shoulders, and I think it's not worth caring about. Why should I care if you
destroy my lack of emotions even more than they all have if I don't care if I live or
die. Caring is a strange concept. Maybe I won't ever understand it, like empathy. I
wonder if life's easier this way or if I make it more complicated. Sometimes not
everything can be analysed the way I want it to be... It's always complicated.
You're complicated. Other people always are. I thought I hated you at first- jealousy
is always hard- but I don't. You're not who I thought you were; you're much better.
And much worse. Because you're not a robot, you're not a diagnosis on a page, you're
a living breathing human. And the others I can deal with because I'm not close enough
to care as much as I say I do, but I got too close to you too quick and now I'm
trapped. And I think I like it. Or I don't dislike it. I don't dislike you. Not one
bit. Because I regret every moment I'm not with you, past and future. Because I don't
see my future with you in it. My imagination isn't strong enough for that. All my
life my future has been solitary, until you. Fitting you into a box that doesn't
exist is going to be hard... Planning ahead was never my forte. Never will be, if I
don't want it to be (or even if I do?) so I won't blame myself or you for that. You
can fit into my box as we get there. It's not too far away, but there's enough time
for the box to evolve. We can evolve. I already have. I was nothing, and now I'm your
angel. A bloodied and broken angel, but my wings are still intact.. somewhat.
Feathers keep coming out, but I think I can live with that. I think I can live with
being broken, as long as no-one tries to fix me without asking.
I'm scared. I'm scared of not being alone. But somehow you break all logic, you are
the exception to all my rules. I'm not scared of being near you. I'm only scared of
you being gone and I don't know why. I can't work out why and I hate it. I didn't
believe in love; it was only chemicals. I suppose I didn't appreciate chemistry
enough, which is ironic at best.
There's a void ahead of me and I don't like it. I can't be floating, I need to be
grounded. I feel like the closer I get to the future, the more it crumbles away, but
the end goal is still there, ever present, like a light at the end of a dark cave...
But the light could be fire as much as it could be sunlight. If it's fire you won't
have to burn with me. I can do that alone. I have done it alone. But I don't like the
smell of burning flesh. Blood doesn't run when the veins are welded shut. So if
there's fire ahead, I'll put it out with blood.