I sit in shock; the numbness has overwhelmed me. My thoughts, usually
tumultuous and cluttered, have strangely left me empty. My mind drained of
thoughts, my heart drained of strength, and my soul drained of all that is the
will to live- hope, faith, and love. The smoke from the cigarette burns my
throat and lungs. I cherish this pain, this physical manifestation of all that
tortures my soul. I inhale deeply, willing the suffering to increase even
enough to distract my mind from its incessant wanderings, to places which
should be happy, yet are now strangely empty. I seek comfort from the bottle.
To drink this magic potion which will deliver me to blackness, nothingness,
and the sweet untroubled sleep of one who pretends to have no cares. It works
but briefly, and I awaken to darkness and solitude, and a loneliness so deep it
tears at me. For I am truly alone; no one knows me or my pain. And no one will
know, for I have mastered the deception which makes life bearable. No one
really wants to know how you feel, they merely ask of politeness. And so I
reply in kind- "I am fine, thank you," and so the charade goes on, perpetuated
by
us all, soulless and lying, in our happy world where no one will truly
know anyone else. And I lie here, by myself and to myself, hoping merely that
the time will pass until I have the strength once again to pretend. Wishing
for the sweet numbness that comes of the repression and denial of feelings and
pain. When I too can tell everyone how fine things are, and even finally
believe it myself. I am strong, somewhere, I must find that place, and remove
myself from this torturous vortex of self pity and misery. But the ocean is not
so easily escaped. Wave after wave batters me. The thick, oily pain covers
me
heavily, clinging to me, dragging me down. It coats my body and my very soul with the weight.
It fills my mouth and lungs so that I can not even cry out in pain, but of what
use that, for no one would hear, or care. I struggle vainly to reach the shore,
where I can at least rest my weary spirit, but it looms so far, and the storms
churn the water. Lightning splits the angry sky, and I see the rocks ahead.
Suddenly I see where it all leads, as I am whirled closer and closer; the roar
of the waves smashing upon the cliffs drowns out the thunder above. I see there
is no hope, no shining light, no hand to save me from the terror which is
myself. Why? I am dashed to the rocks, and yet there is no physical pain. It is
merely added to the suffering in my head, as the waves continue to pound my
fading body. The sun soon begins to rise, and I know I must go on. I must
continue in the great play which is my life, living my greatest fear- to be
alone. Surrounded by people, I am still alone. I smile my hollow smile, and
behave as society has conditioned me. I must keep up the appearance of
pleasantry. We must all look and feel alike, and shun those who are different.
If I am already so alone, how can I let them shun me even more? At least now I
can pretend. Then I could not, for no one would even wish to talk to me. And so
I am trapped within myself, my prison. Free to walk, but never to love, to
speak, to be known. Trapped. Alone. Nevermore.
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