I know I was afraid all along. Its become too easy for me to just pretend nothing is wrong. I lost myself trying to think positive. Why has it become shameful to be upset about nothing at all, or everything at once? Why aren’t we allowed to wallow in the irrational? If only for a little while.
I have to remind myself to be dependable and caring. But with each passing day, as the motivation fades, I’m finding it harder and harder to be a good person.
I hate when you sleep all day and I’m wide awake and lonely. I hate that feeling of wanting to talk to you, not because I have something worth while to say but just because it would be nice to hear your voice. I hate that you look so cute curled up under the covers with your messy hair, and your face squished to one side. I hate that I can’t even kiss you, I would very much like to kiss you.
The morning was almost over when I awoke to a familiar, irritating sound of a snowblower at work. Another reminder of where I am, and who I’ve become.
He knew I would never leave him, though he made a mess and dared me to run. I stayed out of habit knowing that he would never love me like I deserve. He would always be a disappointment, one way or another.
I felt like screaming though my mouth didn’t open and my vocal cords stayed quiet. It was the cold air, the darkness, the moon, and the city skyline. Everything made me feel sad.
Open my mouth
Read the words on my tongue
I won’t dare say
All the evil I’ve done
This depression is pathetic and it renders me useless. I am merely flesh and bone curled up under the covers in this dark room. I will lie here for hours barely breathing. I am unable to get up and face the day and I refuse to accept the person I see in the mirror as myself. I am a waste of space, but this house is big so no one really notices. I haven’t left my room for days, and the hunger pains have subsided so the motivation to get up has vanished. No one has come to check on me. For all they know I could be dead. A stomach full of pills, or my blood soaking through the sheets. Those are all definite possibilities, but both equally dissatisfying.
His coat was naturally too big for me. The sleeves ending at my finger tips, the bottom dragging on the floor. I felt and must have looked like a child, though he still wrapped his scarf around my neck and kissed my forehead before kissing my lips.
I’ll watch the fire go out, the same fire I started just a handful of hours ago. I’ll watch as it shrinks and flickers to a glow. I’ll watch as that glow fades and the smoke rises and escapes up through the chimney. I’ll watch the fire go out for the third time this week as I sit still in my rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around me, a empty tea cup next to my full plate of food on the floor. I’ll watch the fire go out and I’ll feel a sense of loss, a sadness that slowly creeps up. I am isolated by my indifference. I am limited by my own free will.