Monday, March 6, 2017
I started today thinking that I would be writing about the cathartic feeling of finally telling someone how much they drive me crazy. To tell them how they make me feel. How when I go to therapy; they are the subject matter on which I rant about the most.
I was feeling good after finally getting that off my chest. I was feeling good at not holding it all in anymore, but then as usual life happened. All that feeling of well-being vanished as if it had never happened.
Today my world shattered into a million jagged-edged pieces. I am no longer all together, but a million shards held together with some very iffy glue. Today I lost my grip on the world. I realized that I am trapped in a black mire. A pitch so deep that I fear I may never have color again. Yet I do see one color clearly, that of flowing blood as it runs from the cuts, I have made in my skin to let out all the anguish. The red of losing my temper so completely that all I want to see is another bleed. That is my world now. There is nothing else. I am nothing else, but those scattered pieces trying to desperately cling together. I can’t let anyone see that there is no more me.
There is no I. There is only the outline of the woman that once stood, where this shell now stands. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I will ever be me again. If I can pull all the pieces back together to form me again. The one who is missing, the real woman, not the imitation standing before you.
I try to find some link back to me, but the tether has broken. I am afloat in my sea of insanity. No help to be found. My anchor jettisoned, I am adrift.
I feel much the same way as I felt when I lost my dad. That the world was off kilter, not spinning in the right direction anymore. I feel like I will never be happy again. I feel like there aren’t enough tears in the world to be cried over my loss. That the sun has been extinguished. I am on automatic pilot, just going through the motions of living, while my mind is fractured. Instead of a world filled with a kaleidoscope of colors, only two remain; red and black.
My voice is silenced, except for the words on this page. My screams have torn my throat to shreds. They are just pantomimed now. I am that mime trapped in a box of my own despair. Will I ever break free to be just me.