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November 16th, 2006, 06:35 PM
*Firefly*'s Avatar
*Firefly* *Firefly* is offline
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Join Date: May 2006
Posts: 24,397
I'm sitting. Alone. I'm thinking. Contemplating. Thats my problem you know? I think too much. I run down every path, every avenue and the lanes off that, I plan for every eventuality, every thing, considering every oppertunity, heaven forbid I should be caught off my guard, heaven forbid I could ever let myself be weak. And always expect the worst. Never expect the best. Then you can never be dissapointed, only pleasantly suprised if the best happens.

You know its funny, if you break a leg or an arm you can't use it, but a broken heart, it still beats. Continuously. Despite the fact you want it to stop beating, the fact you want to curl up in the corner, lay down, and just let it all stop hurting. But it never does. It never stops hurting. Its there, like a thorn in my side, a constant scratching somedays, somedays a constant stabbing. Somedays its faint. Somedays its all too real. And it doesn't matter how hard you try, you can't escape it, and if you try it will find you and it will make things harder, it will hurt more. Somedays you can pretend, because sometimes pretending makes it easier just for a little while. And sometimes you just dream, because your dreams, sometimes they show you what you want most in the world, they let you have it for a little while, and then for that split second when you wake up, none of it is real, none of it is true.

And sometimes, sometimes they are there. Living in a shadow, but you can sense them you can see them, you can feel their presence. They haunt you, they haunt your dreams, your past, they haunt your present and they threaten your future. And it would all be so easy. If only you hated them. If only one little fibre of you hated them then you could draw on it. But none of you does. Every inch of your breathing body, every pore loves him until it aches. Every part of you misses his touch, his breath, his taste. And I can't help but remember when it was me he said those things to, when it was me he loved, and the more I realize he is saying them to someone else, the more I realise what I should have done, and what I didn't do.

No regrets. Thats how I try to live, because you learn from everything and life is too short. But how long will it be, because life may be short but it is at times like these that it feels like it will never end, that it passes slowly, before someone feels that way about me again? How long before I will be loved again? How long...How long before someone touches me and I feel that shiver again, that wonderful feeling, that high?

You start to need someone's arms, someone elses warmth, their believe, their love of life, and then you start to think again. Who could do that best? And you revisit your past once more in your head, and that is always when it hits you. The one causing the pain is the only cure. Only it's not available on the NHS, and you can't afford the price of private.

Really its all just the ###### life gives you. Only half of mine I just don't know what to do with, there isn't the right category for it. And I have to categorise my ######, yet I can't make the categories. But there isn't one for most of my ######. So I place it somewhere, and then I have to move it again, because it doesn't go there. So most of the time I'm just carrying it, carrying it around with me because I can't put it anywhere and I can't forget either and half the time I can't even catch my breath. Imagine carrying around your worst memories with you constantly, completely unable to leave them in your brain and only recall them by choice. Imagine not knowing from one day to the next how you are goin to cope, how you are gonig to survive the day. Take your worst memory, times it by a thousand, carry it with you everyday, dream of it at night and realize what it is to be depressed.

Sometimes when you think you realize what you have, and when you examine that you realize how lucky you are, but sometimes you don't do that until its all too late, its died and gone to a different world. Its extinct and yet like some insane scientist your trying your best to find a way to bring it back and revive it, so it is like it was. Only it can never be the same, too much has happened, too much has been and gone, and you cant possibly take back all those little water particles that have flowed under the bridge. You can keep trying, but you know in your heart your fighting a losing battle. But if you admit defeat, if you admit defeat and move on you might forget, and you don't want to forget, so you keep trying to pick them all out, because if you can do that it will all be okay.

So thats it. Thats where I am, purgatory perhaps, maybe its hell. I'm not sure. And when I try to work that out, thats when that crawling kicks in. Thats when my skin starts to itch and crawl, desperate to feel cold metal slicing open my skin so my greedy eyes can watch the blood ooze, so that I can watch it and feel relief for one moment, so that I can get a high. Its like a drug. Like heroin it has an addiction, one that when your sober you want to kick, and one when your down you need to keep yourself above the waterline. So your floating, but its strange because you float with a constant sinking feeling inside you.

The most worrying thing about it is you know people who made you happy once. People who would have died for you. But there is something inside you, deep inside of you that refuses to believe that you can ever just be happy. So you try and protect yourself, you run and you destroy what it was you had because it can't possibly be true. Your a law unto yourself, and you don't know why. You just know you can't stop it. No matter how much you love that person this instinct kicks in, and you can't do a thing about it. And that why you feel like you do now. Because you've destroyed it all.

In your head you play over a thousand different role plays, ones where they come back and its all okay again. Ones where it happens the way you want it to. Only there all followed by the same thought. It will never happen. And then you kick yourself for beginning to let the hope back in. Hope hurts and you don't want to hurt. Merely exist. Drift. Motionless. Voiceless. Just be. Just exist.

I have had a chance. My chance to make things right. And I never take it. I seem to just watch it walk past me and no matter how strongly my brain instructs my arms to reach out and my hands to grab they never do. They just hang there. Limp. Useless. Now my eyes just watch everything i wanted slipping further and further out of my reach, and my feet won't move I can't chase after it. I'm weak.

I have argued my defense for things that I should never have had to argue it for. I have put my neck on the line for more than one person, only to loose it. Then as per usual I would wonder why. Why? What had I done? Had I really hurt that person so badly that they had to hurt me too?

I stand and stare at the person that captures my heart. I could stare forever. When I see them time stands still and I never want to be out of their presence and be held in their warm arms. They make the pain stop, the rain go away and the sun come out. They make the world shiny and new like it has never been trodden on before. Their sent is sweet and there touch pure. The thought of them is heavenly and their words haunt your memory. They are the one person in this world that you truly do set apart from the rest. The one person that is different and cannot be tainted or spoiled by those that surround him. He is easily hurt. He falls hard.

And you? You fall hard, but not easily. You trust far too easily however. You wave your trust around and wonder why it gets broken so easily. You are fearful and because of it, clumsy. You can't keep hold of anything, perhaps your just not ready. And yet with him, you fall easily and fear not, you were loved and you knew it. You chose to throw it away like a child emptying a toy box. What the hell were you doing?

People can sit. They can stare. Contemplate. Wonder. They can say in pure awe "this world is beautiful" but with every piece of beauty must come a beast, an ugly side that threatens all that beauty. It becomes a constant fight to save it. And then in the end, when the fight is over, the beast lays slain, that gift hindsight can be unwrapped, and for whatever reason, you see that your battle was in vain. Your energy wasted. But you find yourself in a circle. This happens far too often for your liking. Experience. Useless. It is always ignored, put on the back burner. You were too slow, too sure. You pay the price for it now.

This pain is a silent pain. It is not seen by many, experienced by few, appreciated by even fewer. It merely becomes experience. Experience that you will not use again because everything is different. Experience is simply life giving you a comb when you have already lost your hair. Soon enough there will be somebody new. And they say the beauty of being a teen is the ability to fall in and out of love in a week. Apparently. If this is the case, then why am I so different. Why has this not happened to me? Love finds all. It finds them at different times in different places. Then its up to you. But I, I am loves worst customer. I am the one who never sees it, not until its gone.

And as I still stand and stare, another one causes his enchanting smile, and receives his warm embrace, it is she that tastes his kiss and feels his strength around her. It is she that hears those three words that you longed to hear. You longed for them, they warmed you and made you real. They made you human. If you had been shot down then, you would have died happy. Now all you can live for is their happiness, despite the fact that every time you hear about them, every time you see them or you read about them, your heart breaks again, shattering into a million pieces.

I am sick of having my heart walked all over like a pavement. I'm sick of the expectation that I will always be there I am sick of the tears and the pain I am sick of it all... Sick of it all. I cannot live with this indecisiveness anymore...but I just cant help myself. Suddenly my limbs have taken flight and i am grabbing at every opportunity i can for what I want. Grabbing and clutching desperately like a falling child, missing every single time and kicking myself at every loss like my country is depending on my success. I have little control over myself and it scares me. I rely on others to help me think clearly yet once alone again I simply confuse matters more and don't know what to do.

I sit and I think is it worth it? Should I just wait and see who comes to me? But I can't bare the loneliness I just want someone to hold me until I fall asleep and to kiss me on the forehead and consume me with their love. I cannot live with bounding smiles one minute and flowing tears the next any longer. Enough now. Enough. Its over now. Done with. It is time to let yourself heal and be healed, time to leave the band aid on longer, time to let the scar form and its beauty shine, the beauty of survival, the beauty that the wound is closed, the hurting is over and the bleeding has ceased.

What was will always remain the same and what will become of it will happen. Time to stop worrying now. You cannot control the outcome, you never could and your constant desire to is what lead you to this void, empty nothingness. Mind boggling concepts and ironically all the space in the world, space your craving yet you could never quite get enough of it.

A time will come when you will feel free, all good things come to those who wait, hence why patience is a virtue and impatience carries you further away from what you have your eye on. Your prize your victory... your love.
You need to find someone new, someone to loose yourself in, to immerse yourself with in a pool of bliss where everything is clean and pure, where you can smile and laugh and realise happiness for once.

Its amazing how vivid my memories can become, I can see them playing out in front of me on a movie screen sometimes, only I can smell the right aromas and touch too, I can wander in my movie without disturbing the characters, touch them hold them kiss them, I can watch myself in my own decline, unable to do anything, change anything, stop anything. Hindsight.

I think however the part that shocks me the most, is my ability to imagine things so vividly that I almost believe them. My babies, I see them all the time because I imagine them, I dream of them. Perhaps in my dream world I am actually spending time with them. When I wake up every morning I can smell that wonderful tantalizing smell of newborn babies, that cleanness, that innocence, for that moment, that tiny moment its all not true. My memory soon kicks in, reminding me of the pain, not only the emotional pain of losing them, that sharp, searing, burning, agonizing pain, I can see the blood pouring out of me, I can see the whole scene like a series of photos in a flicker book with the fear and desperate loneliness that accompanied the pain.

I carry these thoughts, these feelings, constant contradictions from different lanes, paths and avenues, down new streets and into others because I cannot free myself of the horror. Its like watching myself in a typical horror film, the ones where the victim always runs up the stairs and corners herself, you urge her to run out into the open but she cannot because for one split second going upstairs seems like a good idea, and its impulse blinds you from any form of logical thought. That scared running character is me. Running from the pain and the reminders that psychologically rape me continuously in my mind.

The things that I will never forget others will never remember. I listen thoroughly to all that is said to me for a hint at an escape into happiness, I watch their body language closer still and I dream of laying in their arms, just for a little while, because their eyes light up when they smile, they are just what you need, your vampiric need for others happiness because you cannot make your own, attracts you too them, you will feed off of them for a while, that is of course until the imminent danger returns, that you yourself may actually be happy, of your own accord. Cut and run time. Nobody ever lets you be happy, ever.

"one day" they say, "one day" with so much ignorant faith that in fact it will all be okay. Will it? "One day you will" they say, will I? I don't know, I cannot see the future, I can only see my past, I can only live my present and in many ways my present is my past. Its stubborn refusal causing me to perform a new persona, just so I can get through the day.

Ultimately I am dying. I have been since the day I was born. We all are dying, we just refuse to accept this concept. In order to die we must live, in order to live we must die. In the meantime we try to furfil aspirations and dreams, have your own families and high powered driven careers. And so somewhere the true meaning of our existence has been lost, we are destroying each other, but I, I am destroying myself.

All I can here are his words, they play over in my head like my favorite song, I play my own words back out loud to try and make it real again, I keep trying until it's madness in my head. He has gone. He didn't even say goodbye. He said the right things, he knew I was vulnerable. I should have seen it coming. I should have. But I didn't. I opened myself up, I let myself believe a lie, I put my neck out on the line and it got cut off again. The thrill of the chase died long ago... the thrill of the catch, that is his aim. He is gone now. Far away. Far away where he cannot hurt me. The question is now how do you let yourself heal, such an open wound will attract so much unwanted attention.

You must wait for the scar, and then you must remember when you want to, you must learn and never let this happen again. You have given all you had to give, you have waited and you have waited, it is time to stop waiting. You have to stop waiting. You have to. Before it kills you. Before it sends you down into new depths you have not been to before, so deep you cannot get out.

Let yourself cry child, let yourself weep for a week, let your tears heal your wound, let it all out, stop trying to be strong.
Let the pain devour you. Let the pain come over you in waves, let wear itself out, let it learn to sleep. Let yourself be vulnerable, learn to be truely strong. Let your mood show.
Don't pretend you are okay when you aren't. Don't live in a shadow. Live your life. Because sometimes giving up doesn't mean your weak. Sometimes it means your strong enough to let go.

Acceptance will eventually come. As sure as eggs are eggs. And when it does you probably won't be prepared for it. Yet another example of experience being invalid and useless. The trick to life is to not make the same mistake twice. We know what it is. We never learn from it. We just let it hang there until one day someone will ask why we have ignored the key to making our lives easier. And really nobody will know the answer.

When you accept you begin to grieve. Your begin to realise that it is real and that in fact you delayed the inevitable for a long time and potentially made this 10 times harder on yourself. Now you will just have to endure until the time comes when you have learnt to live with your grief. Until you have finally soothed your grief enough to sleep for you. Until you have enough control to wake up your grief as and when you want to and have it sleeping when you want it too.

Thats an ideal. An ideal situation for grief. There is an ideal situation for every emotion. Unfortuantly these ideal situations are based on age old traditions that no longer hold prominence in todays world. That British stiff upper lip and the idea of only ever being married once. They are slowly but surely going out of the window. And you just float down the middle waiting for these to affect you. You know that you've got your stiff upper lip sorted. You have not breathed a word of what causes you the most pain to anyone that can take it out of your hands in over two years. You have stayed strong for over two years. You have done well. It all will out in the end they say... but this won't.

I can type about my reality forever. I could just sit and pick the ###### out of life. Forget all thats good. All that has been good. And all that will be good. I am turning cold. I don't want to deal with good. I don't want to smile. I want to hide from it all. All goodness and all wickedness. All happiness and all pain. Just exist.

I have my freedom. But then am I ever really free? I am tied to so many objects. I have the freedom to just get in my car and drive, go anywhere I might want to. But then I worry that my car will get broken into or damaged, maybe even stolen. So am I free? Where is my liberty hiding? Where is she? I cannot see her and I haven't seen her in years. I am trapped within my grief it is taking me everywhere and I have no way to get out. It has locked its doors.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit there? Not fight to get out to be happy again? I can't breathe under the water somedays, I can't breathe and my limbs are heavy and I can't swim to the surface. I just continue to be absorbed by the pain and I cannot move I can't free myself. It hurts. Make it stop. Someone. Please. Make it stop.

I don't want peoples pity, I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I want my angels to be remembered. I want love and support from people that matter. From people who know that life has many suprises for us and they aren't all good. That the stork is sometimes taking away a baby and not always bringing it. Who have lost are those who know. We are not a rare breed. We are not tragic. We are strong mothers.

How is it that I seem to be able to push myself to new previously unreachable levels, I seem to take everything and just let it all be. When did I stop fighting? When did I give in? When was I forced to realise how this world has deprived me of my children?
Cause I know my weakness, know my voice,
Now I believe in grace and choice,
And I know perhaps my heart is farce,
But Iíll be born without a mask
~ Babel, Mumford & Sons

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