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Moments of Weakness.
Pain. My life at this time can be summed up in one simple word. How can such a small sound explain the oceanic torment I drown in?
We all feel this emotion. We all think our pain greater than all others feel. You can never tell just how bad your own pain is compared to others. Yet that doesn’t matter when it hammers at your head and stabs your heart.
Dying, living, and the pain in between, is part of being alive. And so, as long as I am alive, I will accept the pain.
But oh, how it seems close to defeating me sometimes.
Like now.
My mind is a maelstrom. Confusion, doubt regret, loss.
Storm clouds of dark thoughts, crashing together.
Sending blinding strikes of mental agony through my body.
What happened? Where did I go wrong?
How did it come to this?
A human being with such love to give.
With such honor and integrity.
With such need to be held by another.
So alone.
So so alone.
Ironic, possibly the most “popular” teenager in highschool
now sits here alone. His own thoughts the only thing to keep him company. So desperate for human contact he tells an internet site his deepest feelings.
I had so much potential once- so much to give this world.
I truly desired to change it for the better.
Yet I cannot even find my way out of the dark maze of pain and doubt I now find myself in.
Vague acquaintances, flit round my memory like ghosts.
Nameless faces, once warm, breathing people. Now cold memories; evaporating chemicals within brain cells.
Everyone of them, all gone now
All dead in the play that is my life.
And this leads me to ask: do we choose our life stories? Do we really make our own endings and the parts between? For I surely would not have written such a story to be my own.
Is there such a thing as fate? For I truly feel, whether from my own choosing, or from some divine hand- that I have been given the “Juggernaut” of all Greek tragedies to play out.
Is it my love to be alive that makes me the one to bear such a burden, where others would long ago have quit the stage?
For we all must play our parts in the story called “Life.” And though the pain of my part cripples me at times, I still carry the cross, and still thank existence for this chance to feel, to breathe and to have had this chance at being alive.
Even in my lowest moment, I say thank you. Thank you to whatever breathed life into this shell. Gave it feelings and thoughts and emotions. And set it forth on the path it has walked.
And I shall walk my path as it was written.
Even if I have to walk it alone. Isolated. Alienated. Bitter cold from needing the warmth of emotional intercourse only fellow humans can light me with.
Killing myself, each day, as I get up and dress alone. As I complete the daily herd ritual alone. Come home to a cold empty house alone. Then climb into a desolate bed and go to sleep alone.
In all this world, there are so many millions of hands to hold. So many millions of arms to hug me. So many eyes to stare into and see the miraculous workings of a similar mind. So many legs to wrap around me and share with me the miracle of love.
And yet.
I am alone.
Why?
I am not a freak. Im not the hunchback of Notre Dame. I am even considered attractive to some. And yet, the one thing I need so much- has eluded me a lifetime.
Ever held the door for a group of people as they get off a bus? Isn’t it funny how you wait and you wait for someone to take the door for you, and they never do.
I feel my entire life, I have held that door open and let others get to where they wanted- while I stood silent. Seeing my goal. Yet never being able to reach it. Because if I let the door go, it would close and then no one would get what they wanted.
And there I have stood. Always waiting. Always holding that door when I saw my own goal I wanted so badly.
But no one has ever relieved me in my duty of holding the door. And the goals I once held have long gone. They are with the faces of people whose names are ghosts. With chemical memories in cells tied to things I once desired.
And sometimes it gets to me.
Like today.
I sit on the bus. The real bus. And think of that door I will hold when people get off. And it makes me cry.
I hide my face.
Dont let them see you cry on the bus. Dont let the mask slip. We are all in pain at times, in one way or another. But to show human emotion. Well that’s just inhuman. What sort of freak would let the agony in his heart be clearly written on his face?
So I turn the other way when the tears can no longer be held, and I conceal my hurt heart, by pretending Im just one of the herd. Blank, emotionless, unthinking unfeeling, lacking in depth; as I stare vacantly out the window at this ant nest we have made of steel and concrete.
And when I get home I truly cry. I scream my loneliness into a pillow so the neighbors cannot hear.
I excrete all my disappointment, my negative emotions, my heartbreak, as salty water- which will nourish no one, and only evaporate… like my dreams did, so long ago.
And while I write this I ponder…
Who am I writing this for?
Who am I talking to?
Who is it out there who reads my words?
There are so many millions of people out there- who touch the buttons of their computers, delve into the lives of others through the cold keys of their machine- wanting to feel more than just the coldness of a plastic keyboard under their fingertips. Wanting to hear the human warmth of the words by another like themselves.
There are so many people who feel and have dreams and goals and feelings of their own. There are so many humans who want to be held and want a love like I do.
And yet they stay silent, witnesses to a human being hurting, daring to admit his loneliness and his heart to the world.
But for most, merely bored and curious, their eyes will consume these words, like all else they consume, and then their minds will find something else to entertain thier emptness.
And the ones who feel as I, will forever remain silent. As I have my whole life. Holding a door, wanting to know- what it is like, for a pure heart and genuine respect for another, to be be held by one such as myself.
And I will go to sleep tonight, like I always do.
Alone.
Needing the companionship of another like myself. Used to the feeling of sleeping in a large bed that feels a wasteland. Dreaming of the days, when women threw themelss at me. And I was too ignorant in my “nobleness” to let that door go for another to hold.
Passing up the sublime chance to have experienced what it was like to see and feel and know the other half of myself.
The half I know exists. Buit who will now never find me.
As I have spent too long, hidden behind the mask we all wear. Too proud to show my true heart to the world.
Eternally missing that chance to have known my other half.
Im so deeply sorry,
your hands lay so full of love,
yet so lacking contact.
"When I was a child I flew! Then as an adult- I watched others soar."
[ Edited by Chained Wings at
]
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