She’s wondering how much more she can take before she leaves sanity far behind, before she falls silent before the whirlpool of emotions inside her. She knows she’s close to that point though, the words fazing her, traitorously slipping from her mind. All she can feel is that nailing sensation trying to scratch its way out of her body, through all the pores of her skin. Yet she can’t name it, she can only feel and let it happen to her. The addition of it all leaves her there trying to figure out where everything went out of her control, out of her reach. There was a time when she spoke though, when she would open up to someone and try to get it out of her, but she lost the ability to do it… she’s alone now. She would just stand or sit quietly somewhere, doing her best to forget why she feels what she feels.
Pain, grieve and regret. Regret at what she’s becoming, but she knows there’s no fighting it now; it’s no use. She’s losing her grip.
Pain... Pain is good, though. It lets you know that you’re still here, alive; tangible. That’s what I keep telling myself whenever I feel that I’m losing that connection with my feelings, when words to describe the pain flee away from me, scared of their own monstrosity. I don’t want to think about how wrong my life is, but it’s here, there’s no way I can forget or fix it, nothing I can do. But still, there’s hope.
I had this strange dream last night…the same for almost a year now. Held close, soothed, found.
There she goes again, hugging herself against the cold and smoking cigarette after cigarette. She loves the slight buzz the tobacco coursing in her veins gives. Smoke fogging her brain and putting a thin veil on her thoughts. Yes, she felt freer when she smoked, but the problem was that she hardly did anything else at all. To be completely honest, she didn’t see it as something that was potentially destructive, it was just a way for her to get rid of some pent up, overwhelming emotions; like a drug of sorts. She had given that up ten years ago; at least that’s what she thought at the time. But the habit came back raging, urging and she didn’t feel like fighting it any more. Friends and relatives forgotten, just like the rules for healthy life, she smokes like her life depended on it; a bullet to her brain, nothing more, but nothing less either.
