I’m searching for a way to avoid the censorship of my thoughts when it comes to the expressions of crucial emotions. It’s as if the distance between my fingertips and mind is dedicated towards the production of a film these words will project. As if this voice sitting above my head is waiting with a loose whip, ready to punish me from the terrible reviews you may release. Advertisements
I don’t know, it’s rough these days. My hand trembles with every sentence I write down, these unfulfilling thoughts pulling at my heart strings. I have so many emotions, so many messages I must send you, but they never make it past my fingertips.
I don’t want to be consumed by the poison that is myself any longer.
You are not the storm you make out to be, the crack between sanity and reality. I understand the jumble of words inside that corrupted mind of yours as it tries so hard to complete the picture. Your words shouted out without thought, hoping to discover the illness of your days. Let me tell you that it will be okay, that every mystery comes down to the depression chipping away at your shoulder, devouring every last piece of self esteem. But do not fear as this crippling feeling deep inside you will perish over time. Take this from me, an impaired person refusing to let death inside every appointment I walk into. I have taken so long to acknowledge the painful reality that depression cannot be cured by a simple pill over night. It takes countless nights of staring at empty ceilings, corrupted thoughts at train stations, and numbed out screams for help. The road out may not be an easy one,
You make it out like I’m some wild card, like every part of me is filled with some form of mystery. I’m not even remotely close to being a mystery, I am who you see standing right in front of you. The person I present to you is the character I’ve become, it’s the shyness slowly tearing, it’s the jokes with distractions. I’m in no means hiding a knife behind my back ready to pounce. I mean every word with sincere honesty, in the hopes to gain trust for no other reason than to support you.
So many thoughts, left at 3 in the morning. Our minds acting free, yet trapped within our fears. For every night, is spent with hidden tears. Whatever the case, whatever the pain, all ends will be met. Our 3 am thoughts, will soon perish. Our nights ending sooner, with eyes quickly weary with peace.
A thread of string can only be pulled so far before it is torn apart. When will you accept that change is important? Whether it is letting go of the past and moving on, changing where you are in this moment of life, or even seeking the help you’ve been desperate to cry out for. Maybe instead of keeping every thread stressfully intact, they can be selectively released. Maybe letting go of hopeless threads, life becomes easier with newer opportunities. This perspective of changing never sparked in my thoughts overnight. It arrived in the slowest and most painful way it possibly could. It served itself in the form of struggling nights filled with emptiness, nights packed with empty tears and drowned out heads. Wounds made fresh time and time again, reminding myself of all the pain caused both to and from my own heart. My mind replaying every torn smile, every forgotten hug, every unfulfilled promise. This growing perspective of
I know I was only a whisper, mixed with the sounds of the wind. But I was hoping you’d hear my voice, as yours was the only voice I listened to. I’m sorry if you read these too late, but know that it’s okay. I’ll be gone by the time you no longer feel it, the soft emptiness irritating you, an emptiness you’re not quiet sure why. I’m hoping you’d see these notes in time, in case you can stop me before I leave. But I know deep down, that you’ll only romanticise them, thinking they were only abstract, meant for no one. Before I go, know that I wanted to leave three little words, words too difficult to say without fear. So I leave this, encryptions in notes that may never reach you.
Ever dream of the end, the closing of the gates? Can you see anything beyond, or are you filled with fear? Do you see life as an end goal, or an adventure day to day? Does financial security mean anything, when your job becomes lifeless? Do you seek what you want, or what you need? Could you starve yourself for a week, if it meant you could write your best that week? Could you sacrifice your sleep, if it meant you could be the best in your field? Could you grow old, knowing you didn’t accomplish your dreams, because the risks were high? Do you ask the easy questions, or the necessary questions?
I remember the fountain that rested at the bottom of the stairs, its aged, silver statue up straight in the middle of it. It used to be my favourite little resting place where I could easily turn the pages over and over without a moment of interruption. It was perfectly rounded within the centre of the formation of cracked stones that lied beneath the stairs. In between the cracks, small growths of nature crawled through, greeting the air with it’s soft shade of green. Beyond the stones grew knee deep grass, with overgrown trees overhanging above. It was as if the place was untouched, with nature claiming back their land. It was a quiet bubble of beauty within a world of non-stop clattering, a world filled with people too busy to acknowledged the softness life has to offer. It was my little spot to read my favourite books without even a speck of worry. The trickling water behind my as I lean