Thursday, August 30, 2012

the elephant in the room

Very few things feel like pain.

Its not even pain. It's that agitation coursing just below your skin. Making you feel like you need to scratch your skin off. Peel. it .off. now! It runs under your skin. Vibrating, glowing orange red. Making you miserable. Making your heart heavy. So heavy you can’t breath. So heavy you automatically don’t think about it. Flick on to something else. An incepted need for a cigarette. Or a hunger that doesn’t exist but that needs to be!

You will probably not look back to the chain of events/feelings that landed you here. Will probably forget more than choose not to. You probably blocked it out. Your mind/subconscious/etc blocked it out. Is that a self-defense mechanism you picked up during a lonely, ignored childhood? Oh sweetie!

You have all the best intentions to “fix yourself”. Heal. Find whatever the fuck it is that is keeping you miserable and standing like a concrete wall between you and feeling things. You probably make all these plans to start over. But its useless. There isn’t a place to start. To or a place to go. No map. You become like a little twirling girl in a tutu, desperately going round in circles round yourself. And calling it art. Enjoy.

Pain. Sometimes it’s not physical. Not just a heavy heart. Sometimes, it’s a hole in your soul. Sometimes it's the absence that hurts. Sometimes, you miss being something else you can’t be. Or feeling things you no longer can.

You might feel singled out. For misery. For eternal damnation. For a lifetime of cosmic bad luck. Fine. If it makes you feel better. If it helps you sleep or whatever. Just at that point, when the thought comes creeping into your bed and whispers in your ear that, perhaps, you are the one doing the singling out.

And that’s when you know; there is nowhere to go from here.