They twist in my mind. Transforming into something else. Ugly. Distorted. Manipulated. Never escaping me. Every night like the last. Laying here imprisoned, battling the thoughts again. Fighting to restrain myself; fighting to allow the unconcious reign. Dizzy, confused, and exhausted, I try to separate reality from the figments of my imagination- an impossible task. The words, the thoughts, the feelings...all still there. They consume me.
The morsel of hope that I once held high, is slowly diminishing. Clinging to the edge of the cliff is a draining task. Yet, I continue to grasp desperately at the crumbling sod. Digging in for dear life.
I swallow the lump in my throat and rise off my bed. I take the few steps to the switch and a blanket of darkness envelopes my room. I sigh, allowing my eyes time to adjust, waiting for the darkness to reach me.
My daily routines are repetitive.
I'm living in a parallel universe. Rejection and me don't mix very well...or should I say, they intermingle very well.
Most people have the luxury to tune things out, to forget things. Me, I remember everything. Some may call it a gift, but I view it as a curse.
I can see things so clearly it makes me sick. Because these things I'm not really seeing. It's like it's on replay...a ghost from the past.
It's like time just stops and things just are. And I can't sort it all out. Painful scars.
The world turns away.
The monster inside. On the verge.
I just don't know whether the monster is on the verge of breaking out or breaking in.
It's an unwanted solicitor for now. Lingering. A pesky nuisance, really. The optimist could say that I finally have company. But it is unwanted.
The key is to keep it at bay. It's the safest way; the only way.
Keeping things in balance is a struggle. But the alternative...is just that much worse.
The rain pounds incessantly overhead. The rhythmic beat used to be comforting. In the past, I viewed thunderstorms as therapy- wiping the slate clean. I would eagerly await the flashes of lightning, bracing myself for the thunderous roar. Breathe in, breathe out. Monotonous. My heartrate would quicken in anticipation, waiting for the moment. But one day, it never came. And it has yet to return. Thunderstorms are no longer a blessing. They make me miserable. It reminds me of how things were, how I was. And it serves as a reminder of what I've become.
I angrily punch my pillow, in defeat. The relief will never come. My little bit of hope has almost completely vanished. The raging storm continues. I dwell on my thoughts, unable to shake them. Bolting upright, I throw on a worn hoodie and sweats, I reach under my bed for my runners. My hands are shaking as I tie the laces.
I need to get out of here.
I grab my keys, iPod, and my pepper spray and lock the front door behind me. My feet hit the pavement at a sprint. I run past the elementary school, the soccer fields, the playground, the creek. I continue to run straight into the dense woods. Exactly where I shouldn't go, but I dare. I need to. I need to feel alive, to rid myself of this numbness. The brush gets thicker, it gets darker, and the trail has become overgrown. The rain pelts my face and soaks my layers.
I yell up to the sky, "Is this all you got?".
BOOM! The thunder claps above me, making me jump. I finally have had enough and head back to cover. My pace has slowed so the journey takes twice as long. Each step grows heavier, emotions starting to course through me. I slap my hand over my mouth, in attempts to stifle a sob. My body is in surrender mode and there is no stopping it. My shoulders start to shake.
My house is in sight, when my sides brace against the wooden fence, sagging, as I drop to the muddy ground. I rock back and forth, trying to calm myself. Eventually, the rain relents and I find the energy to stand again. I push my way into my home, climbing the stairs, leaving evidence of my whereabouts. Unable to be bothered with removing anything until I reach my bathroom and turn the dial to the shower on to hot. I watch as the steam forms. I awkwardly pull off my sports bra and t-shirt that cling to my back, and shimmy my way out of my now skin-tight sweats. I lose my last barrier and stare into my full-length mirror. I'm shocked at the figure I see staring back. She's a gaunt version of the woman I used to be. Where muscles used to proudly flex there are now bones. Heavy circles have formed under my eyes. My once golden skin is now a ghastly pale. My previously thick, wild curls hang limp and dry. What startles me the most are my eyes. Everyone used to compliment me on my chocolate brown eyes that would twinkle mischeviously. They now stare back blankly. Cold. Hollow.
I shake my head at the creature I have become. I step under the warm showerhead hoping to rid myself of this new version of me. I scrub and lather monotonously, letting the heat scald me. I remain this way until the water turns cold. Shivering, I exit the shower and grab a grey towel. I hug it around my body. I pick up my soaked clothing and toss it into the laundry hamper on the way to my room. I exchange the little warmth offered by my towel for some casual clothes. I pull my hair into a loose ponytail and steady myself to take another look in the mirror. The shower seems to have only revived my hair a little bit and give my skin a pinkish hue. The change is minimal, but I will take it.
My stomach growls, and it's only then, that I realize the time; it's almost seven in the morning. After a pretty much sleepless night, my body demands nourishment. I descend the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on. I rummage through my cupboards looking for anything edible. I shouldn't be surprised when I come up empty-handed. Normally, one must actually go to a grocery store in order to have food in the house. I search the freezer and find a loaf of freezer burnt bread. I bang the bread against a counter until I am able to separate two pieces from the rest. I pop them into the toaster. While I wait, I prepare my coffee (a cup full of Bailey's with a splash of coffee) in my earth-toned mug. My toast pops and I slather butter on top. I hold my steaming beverage in one hand and carry the toast in the other. I plop myself into my recliner.
As I slowly stir my coffee, I gaze out the window. The rain has started to ease up, with streaks of the rising sun highlighting the sky. I'm unsure of what to make of this turn of events. But I have become acutely aware of the racing thoughts swirling around inside my head. Flashes of memories. My childhood. My adolescence.
But I am mostly aware of HER. I am always aware of HER.