Sometimes I wish I were a songwriter. It looks so easy to put your feelings, thoughts and fears into a song.
"Therapy" they call it. Oh well, it works for the then and then intensities.
So, here I am .Its almost two o' clock in the morning, I just put down an amazing book I've been reading for a little too long, and over and above that; I'm left alone in the darkness. So I shove in my headphones, grab my laptop and begin to write.
I guess it burns more when you switch on the lights and realise that it isn't the physical and tangible darkness that terrifies you, but its the ghosts you carry around lurking in the crevices of your innards. Its not the loud and random bangs that make you jump but rather the silence. Its not the fear of seeing someone else behind you in the mirror,but that of looking and seeing yourself. An empty shell, a shadow, a mere reminder of what used to be.
Its not the fear of people seeing you cry, it is the knowledge that you are all cried out and you cannot cry no matter how much yo wanted to.
The only thing worse than feeling itself, is the lack thereof.
The terrifying and bitter cold that your spine has long gotten used and even made friends with, the violent whirlwinds of flashbacks and memories that encompass your mind day and night, the emptiness that clouds the base of your stomach. It is the kind that cannot be filled, the kind that makes your toes curl and your eyes itch. No, its not hunger, its not sadness, its not anger, its not frustration, its not depression, its NOTHING!!
I haven't written in a long time, not because I had nothing to say, but because I had so much it was impossible to structure it properly. So many nights I lay awake until the sun came up, wishing for something different to happen. So many mornings I'd fall asleep and meet the same demons I so badly wanted to bury.
The memories, the flashbacks, the people and places.Whatever happened??
The little girl who would stay up late playing cards with her grandmother and discussing literature with her grandfather. Where is she? The bright spark who did crossword puzzles and word searches with her mom on Friday evenings. What happened to her?
I miss the girl who had dreams of becoming a vet an author. When did we decide to grow up?
I use the word 'decide' with extreme caution. I honestly believe growing up is a decision. One made by uneducated and over excited teenagers, but a decision nevertheless.
You can wake up one morning and realise you are totally different from who and what you were last night. Baggy eyes from all night texting? That's not even half of what I'm talking about!!
You look in the mirror and discover that growing up isn't half as exciting as you thought it would be and had imagined. It's almost as if things changed overnight, or even closer to home; that you changed overnight.
Its a terrifying and bitter sad reality.
So when does this rapid growth begin ? When you finally agree to do what everyone else id doing even though you know with every fibre in your entirety it is wrong to the core?Is it perhaps when you start wearing make-up and noticing the opposite sex? Well, answers differ from each individual to the next.
I realised I had grown up when I saw the first line of blood on my wrist. It was the 21st July 2008 and I was 14. The winter was bitter and the wind was painful. I sat with my stepbrother outside and watched him smoke. I remember feeling absolutely NOTHING!!! I didn't want to tell on him, I didn't want to try it out because of curiosity, I simply didn't care. I didn't care about him, about me or anything else for that matter.
I had bought the razor blades a few days prior, but I had been flirting with the idea for months.
I walked inside the house house and locked my bedroom door. I don't think I wanted to die. I think I wanted to believe that I did. I just wanted to scream.
I had made so many decisions, been in so many situations, saw things no child my age was supposed to. I knew i was going to drown. I needed to scream, I needed to cut. And I did.
The blood seeped through and I knew I wasn't a child anymore. I couldn't have been.
Where I come from, children didn't speak of death. It was the greatest taboo ever. But there I was; not thinking about it, not talking about it, but actually wanting it. Or at least a little piece of it, if possible. I had made my bed and it was time to lie in it.
I could've stayed a child for as long as possible, but it had to happen some day. I CHOSE to expose myself to things I knew would mess with my mind. I knew the difference between right and wrong and still I chose to do wrong. I CHOSE to grow up.
Now my decisions haunt me. Years later, the consequences won't let me rest. The guilt, the shame, the foolishness. Oh please, let me go!!
I could cry and until I'm blue and purple and say I want my childhood back, but yeah right I can see how that is going to work out. So what then is the solution? For myself and those who share a story similar to mine? Well, there isn't one really. We are adults now. Perhaps a little too soon, perhaps too late but it is what it is.
We had the strength to step away from childhood, surely we have the strength to walk in big shoes. Nothing is ever as it seems and sometimes the wrong wrong decisions lead us to the right places.
I found an opening and I used it. I found my escape and I'm getting there slowly but surely. I found a way to truly smile without pretence.
Do I know what I'm doing? Nope! But I do know that I'm trying and that's enough for now.
As I switch off the lights and wish my demons and ghosts a good night. They are mine now, I made them.
