Timeless confession

Dear diary,

Today was a little better, I got up in the morning and only took a 3 hour nap. I am spending more and more time awake.

I fear that my mood has not improved as much though, as I drift through life feeling as if I were merely watching the world go by with no true agency of my own. A secondary character, watching the plot unfold, or even an extra in a play where I have no lines and solely exist to give the appearance of movement in the distant background.

Some days this realisation brings me great despair as I struggle to find meaning and break through the monotone fog that strands me. On days like this I merely wander aimlessly, wondering how the world would change were I to disappear. Admittedly I do not think it would have much impact, yet it saddens me to think of the torment I might inflict on the few who care for me.

I remain listless, longing for a way to make my life my own. Days pass by like leaves in a storm, fate keeping me at a relentless standstill. If not for my daily medecine I would long since have disappeared into the night. I cling onto the hope that I may yet perhaps get a chance to make the world friendlier for those who would pass after me. That requires me to stay alive and alert. Ready to pounce on any opportunity like an anxious kitten.

I get jewels implanted into my skin just so that I may feel some relief from the constant pain inside me. Creating an ornament of mesurable sorrow as I stain my body with coloured inks, and string metal bars through my ears. It is my way of marking the time. Of remembering who I am, and where I wish to go. Similar to the way the bell chimes the hour, I mark my body with beautiful pain as my heart struggles to keep the tempo. I believe that one day I will finally be able to lead my own life, attaining the freedom I have long yearned for. It is the only truth that will keep me going.

If someone reads this and I did not make it, let it be known that I tried my best to keep my grip, and if I have let go it was not without regret. I would have wished to create a kinder place for those with my disposition. I have yet to see if this world will allow me to succeed.

 

The Wound

Anger.
It sat like an old wound that had festered under a damp bandage,
Left alone for too long.

It waited at the edge of my consciousness,
Ready to flare up
With one wrong turn,
A heavy breath too close,
A simple touch could send me howling inside.

It lay there,
Crimson as the day it had ripped open,
Raw and screaming,
Its surroundings pale and sickly.
It corrupted the healthy tissue around it,
Tainting the happy moments with bad memories.

It grew slowly,
Threatening to break things,
Limbs,
Relationships…

It sapped my energy,
I’d forget sometimes
How easy it used to be to move,
To connect to people,
To smile.
It made me feel old.

It clouded my vision,
I saw red everywhere I went,
The air thick with deception,
Light burning my retinas in ugly shapes
Of monsters I saw when I closed my eyes.

I fear one day it will consume me whole.
And all that will be left:
A festering wound,
A gaping hole,
That even the bravest carrion crows avoid,
Lest they too lose themselves in it.

 

Compliance

I’ve been trying to figure myself out. I used to be able to contain everything, compartmentalise and move on. Except I wasn’t really moving on, I was only trying to keep working, keep myself from failing at what I deemed most important for my future. But I never moved on.

The anger and the hatred, the shame and the pain, the frustration… it’s all spilling out now.

I’ve lost my control. My defence mechanisms have become little people that live in my head and I’m trying to count them. I have more good days now, but very few days when I’m able to be productive for the outside life I’m still trying to hold on to. I can barely make sense of what’s happening inside of me, between the cacophonies and the silences.

I’m haunted by the incessant ticking of the clock. Constantly trying to catch up on lost time. Never able to take the time to pause. If only I could just… breathe.

I’m overwhelmed when I’m not understimulated. I’m constantly being judged, doubted, called out, gaslit. Having to tune out the world while somehow still trying to live in it.

My future? What future?
Who even am I?
What do I want?
How can I live like this?

 

Light

Blood. It’s all I want to see. I want to shed blood, whether it’s my own or my tormentors’ doesn’t matter as long as something happens. I keep thinking I can’t live like this anymore, and somehow I still do and nothing ever changes. And every time I end up trembling in a corner, convincing myself not to draw blood.

I don’t know how long I can keep this up. The excuses seem more and more shallow. The good things further away. No matter how hard I try to reach them. There’s always something.

My body is shutting down and I still try to reach for the light. Past the abuse. Past the insults. Past the lack of belief anyone has in me. Past all of the judging and the hating and the hurtful misunderstandings. Past the loud noises in my head and the deep loneliness. Past the narcissists and the psychopaths and all those who would stand above me, consciously or not. Past those who judge my body. Past those who judge the state of my mind. Past those who would offer just enough love to keep me from ridding myself of the suffering they cause me. Past those who disappear on me yet still exist in my mind.

I wish the real world could be as beautiful as the places in my mind. I wish I could fall asleep under a sky of roses and wake up in a sea of clouds. I wish I could float and shape myself how I wished and I could touch the moon and see the stars untouched by the numbing burn we create in our skies. Maybe I’m reaching for the wrong light…

 

Bud

They’re my favourite.
Like eating blueberries
In a quiet park,
Watching fireworks.

Their body is painted,
And the colours seep out
Into the air around them.

They say I’m amazing,
They respect who I want to be,
They see me as the person
I want to become.

They feel like
The soothing drops of rain
Crashing down on me,
Enveloping me,
Bringing out the smells
Of the plants around me.

They are wild
In a calm way.
They let me keep my freedom
And I want them to have all the love
People want to give them

At the end of the day
We understand each other,
We laugh together,
And we hold each other tighter
Than I’ve ever been held
Before

 

Ghost in real life

It’s been a year.
I keep getting dragged back though.
To that old house,
It’s like it’s haunted,
And I’m the ghost.

It’s cold
All the time,
The windows and doors
Are all open,
But I can’t leave

It’s a dusty old house
Darkened by the smoke
And the passage of time
I can almost
Feel it flinch
With the passing cars

I’m all alone this time,
It’s not what’s there
That haunts me,
It’s what isn’t

You left me there
And I needed you
To come back,
But you
Didn’t

And now
I’ve become a ghost
Forever
Waiting
For our lost time.

I’m scared
To make a sound
What if you knew?
Could you forgive yourself?
I
Just want to
Leave

I sit alone
And cry at night
On the tiled floor.
A wild cat passes right through me.
The Sun never reaches my skin.

Wherever I am
I am here
Lost
In a place I know
Too well

 

One Way Problem

A flightless bird in a cage, high above the ground, “If you want to leave” they said “just take the key”. I looked around at the tight walls around me, then down into the void below. “I have nowhere to go” I replied, “how can I leave?”
“That’s not my problem” they answered, “you only said you needed to leave, I’m only stating you can, don’t think I’ll help you, that’s not real freedom, so figure it out”.

I sat in the dark for a long time, my muscles atrophying from the lack of space to move around. Then I started to formulate a plan; like Daedalus I slowly gathered feathers from the birds around me, I worked to get enough materials to scrounge up what I would need for my age-old invention. If I couldn’t be aided by those who were supposed to help me I’d find my own way out, before the air got so thin that I would suffocate. I was only missing one thing: a stable ground to land on.

I slowly tested my new wings, in relative secret, landing on rickety platforms before coming back to base. I got quite good at flying and the clean air outside made me a little stronger to endure the cage. Then one day I was offered a more stable landing ground, just as my cage ran out of air.

I flew away as the cage crumbled behind me.

All I wanted was to be free. But some chains still cling to me, bashing into my ribs as I flap my wings.

I just want to be free.

 

Dark

I’m lost.
It’s so dark here.
I can’t see a thing.

Am I falling?

Are you there?

Can you see me?

I’m so scared to call out.
I’m scared I’ll bother.
I’ll be labeled crazy.
You’ll leave me.
I’m more scared that no-one will answer.

Maybe you’ve already left.
Quietly.

Won’t you reach out?
I don’t need much.
Touch my shoulder.
Hold my hand.

If you’re up to it
Can you hold me?

I feel so alone.

Won’t you hold my hand
And tell me
I’m not

 

Third Eye

I’d rubbed my wrist so nervously that I’d breached the skin. The barrier keeping the “me” separate from the outside world. Wisps of darkness were seeping out. Bubbles crept out and up to join the sky, ushering back the night. It was like a story begging to get out. An unsung poem. It was an ode to destruction that I’d struggled to keep inside for so long. A knot of lies and deception unravelling. A beat from the depths of tartarus escaping. Badum. Badum.

I blinked… and in that space I only saw a raw sliver of whatever sits under the first layer of skin. But I could still feel the darkness hiding in my peripheral vision. Narrowing my mind. Seeking to hide the escape routes. Letting me rot. The doubt festering. The irresistable feeling of falling.

 

Puppet

You thought you would try a new thing.
Puppet master.
You took some basic materials,
Thread, cheap wood and a tin heart.
It was all you could afford.

You fashioned a puppet,
From what you saw in the streets,
In magazines,
The puppet became another reflection
Of the outside world.
Like so many others before it.

As you played with the strings
A wind stirred up from inside.
A new force started appearing,
Moving the puppet when you were away,
Trying to halt
Some of your actions.

You watched your puppet grow,
Never giving it “too much” freedom.
After all you had created it.
It belonged to you.

Rust started to form
On its tin heart,
The wood started to creak.
You had not built it to last.
You did not know how to.
You did not even see
It was falling apart.

Master I wanted to make you smile,
I only felt alive when I saw joy spreading out.
Tell me master
Why is there so much pain?
Why is it the easiest thing
For me to feel?
Master, am I dying?
Is this what death feels like?

I am afraid,
My body aches,
My heart is in pieces,
I do not know how to fix it,
You never left me the tools,
You have become cold,
I struggle to find warmth

I realise now how alone I am.

My strings are falling loose.
I am falling.
I wish I could go back into the forest,
To be a tree again.
You and so many others
Would not have it.
I see your tears in my dreams.

I move so that you will not cry.
I seldom see you laugh
Like you once did.
I have failed you master…