I needed to look at something new, so I borrowed a page from the book of another. Not a literal page from a tangible book… simply the importance of screaming… even if no one is listening.
I feel like my thoughts are constantly yelling, “LET ME OUT!! JUST SAY HOW YOU FEEL FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!!” I try, and try, and try… and everything just comes out all wrong. My emotions tangle together in a knot… like the way I find anger overlapping adoration simply because it’s easier to be mad than it is to admit how much I care. What I mean and what I say become two separate and equally misguided missiles/ Meanings shooting inward to obliterate my mind and speech sent like swarms of angry bees unsure as to whether they should guard their hive or chase their target miles from home.
More and more, I’m finding myself shying away from goals that seem to be unattainable. I used to be so ambitious… fearless in my attempts to get what I want after entering adulthood. Now I’m back to being the withdrawn little girl I couldn’t shake off in my early school days.
This whole thing comes out with a tone of desperation… each sentence ending in a pleading pitch as if everything is a question. The rise and fall of octaves displayed only in the throes of tantrums and the moments before the voice cracks and tears rise hot behind every blink. Yet as I catch my reflection in the glass surrounding this desk, my face illuminated only by the glow of the monitor, you can see nothing more than a lackluster stare and my standard lazy pout… only the occasional scrunching and raising of my brows to give away the possibility of complex thought. The lack of emotion in my face is sickening. What have I turned into?
I always feel slightly insane at the end of the night. I sit down to unwind before I lay down in bed to stare at the ceiling but find myself unable to soothe all that has built up throughout the course of every dynamic day. Even in complete boredom, there’s always something going on for me… something I want to say, somewhere I’d rather be, something I hope or long for, something I crave like a drug. There’s never the emptiness of nothing to just sink into, to engulf me and shut down this cesspool of useless thought. I’d be willing to guess that even in death, I might never find peace.
As the years wear on, I’ll continue this as I always have. Attempting to sort and organize and grow… perhaps one day I’ll scream something more productive than obscenities or cliche. Will anyone still be there when I come around? I can’t bear to be the only one bound to me forever. I’ll only push myself over the edge one day. Does anyone see that I might not take you down with me, but instead rise to the surface? I haven’t seen the light in a long time… hold my hand and pull me out please. I don’t ask for much…