All that i am, or hope to be

“All that I am, or hope to be”

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Mental stillness.

You open your eyes, sunlight flooding your retinas. You feel blinded and disappointed you're still alive. What time is it? Noon. Barely two hours of sleep. You flip to your right, witness your mother sleeping soundly, and decide to get up and sleep in your room instead.

You reach your room. An image crosses a side of the wall as you walk towards your bed. You pause and approached that image. You observe it for a brief moment. Red, swollen, crusty eyes. Pale skin, blue lips. A disgusting albeit terrifying sight. Anyone who sees this image would have screamed, or run away. You immediately feel a rush of energy flow through you. Your fists ball up, and you're ready for a punch. You grit your teeth and prepare for impact. You hold your fist mid-air and pause.

Hot tears start rolling down your cheeks. You weaken. You feel like your heart dropped into your stomach, and your throat grew thicker, it's hard to swallow, almost hard to breathe. You hated what you saw, hated it so much, but it's all you have. Mirrors, mirrors always seem to mock you.Always seem to enhance your insecurities, always there to remind you how fat, how ugly, and how unwanted you are.

You stand there, staring at yourself. Memories of last night playing over in your head. You feel raw, you feel alone,you feel used. You take a breath and try to hold it in, digesting the thoughts along the way. Everything you love hates you. Everyone you love hates you. Even you hates you. You hate your vessel, you hate your soul. Interior and exterior, both are just unacceptable in your eyes.

Why are you given all this? This ugliness, this sticky black feeling inside? You feel like you tried so hard to please everyone, and you receive nothing in return. You don't want much, you just want to be loved and accepted. You want your self-loathing to stop, you want to be normal and laugh freely. You hope so much for things to stop, for the thoughts to stop, for the tears to stop, for the choke in your throat to stop, but the mirror... It keeps on reminding you how awful you are, and you can't seem to look away.

Nobody loves you, nobody loves you, nobody loves you.
You're just a piece of waste in this world. An object of no importance, made ugly and unappealing, with a completely unattractive character to go along with.

Stop it, stop thinking that way, it's not good for you. Your conscience tries to convince you it's going to be okay. You know, though, that it never will. You look once last time into the mirror, and the vision confirms your thoughts. You can never, ever love yourself.

You turn and took a seat at the corner of your bed. You look down at your hands. Long, bony fingers, crooked at the joints. Yellow nails, scaly skin, prominent veins and lines and dryness are all you could see. No wonder nobody loves you. You are disgusting. You look up, and took a deep breath.

Change change change change
He wants you to change
You want him to love you
You want him to think you're perfect, you're good enough for him.
How do you change. How do you change.

The tears keep on coming. Your mind feels like someone poured hot black sticky tar and every good memory possible is blanketed and replaced with these thoughts. You cannot think clearly. You wish for comfort, but you don't know where to look for it. You wipe your tears, stood up and search for your the bag you dumped to the side last night. You pour out all it's contents, and found what you were looking for.

You lit a cigarette, and watched the smoke dance, momentarily forgetting everything.