It's been a while, hasn't it? Since I've posted, I mean. That's not to say that I haven't been recording things here and there; just been hand writing some stuff to spare my computer and anyone unfortunate enough to stumble onto the tail end of this blog. That being said, I've also been avoiding some things, because reasons. And now I have to do something with all those things that I didn't want to admit, but can no longer deny. I'm posting it here, possible consequences be damned, because I know for a fact my handwriting won't hold up through all of this emotional vomit and internal screaming put into words.
Where even to begin? I suppose the most logical place would be... Sometime about two years ago, I think? Perhaps three, now. The days, years even, have been blurring into an indiscernable jumble of events. I don't think the exact time elapsed really matters, though. Things have just gone on for too long, and that's on me.
It always comes back to strength, in one way or another. I force myself to be stronger than I really am, or I try to be strong when I shouldn't, or I mistake a myriad of other emotions for strength. I'm not sure I even know what strength is at this point. Can you even quantify something like that? I guess that's part of my problem. I ask too many questions that don't have answers, or are dependent on too many variables to be reliable.
I've been surviving, barely. But I don't feel strong. It's dogged, in a way. I'm only here because I promised not to not be here. It's really the only thing that keeps me clawing my way from one day to the next. One promise that I absolutely refuse to break. Because that's all I have. The person I made the promise to doesn't even talk to me anymore; wouldn't know if I broke that promise... Probably doesn't even remember that I gave my word to begin with. But I remember. I remember that I was feeling somewhat like I do now, and so a friend begged me to promise that no matter how hard things got, I would never try to escape by taking my own life. And I did. I promised.
I almost regret it.
But a promise is a promise, and even more so for me. I... don't have a lot of value as a human being. I'm not especially kind, I'm not particularly gifted in any notable way, and I have a habit of being distrustful and skittish, cutting away or turning my back on aspects of myself that I deem to be weaknesses. I'm cold, I suppose. But the one thing I do have, is that I don't lightly go back on my promises. I can't break this promise. I won't do it. I made the promise, and the only thing that pushes me to even consider breaking it is despair... Which is temporary. I know it's temporary. Sometimes it just sinks it's jaws in a little deeper, holds on a little longer. I know that if I just keep moving, even if it's at this miserable, dogged pace, I'll shake myself free of it eventually.
This survival isn't strength, though. I've never felt weaker. More vulnerable. More Frightened.
I keep trying to cut away and shut out certain emotions or memories... Lines of thought. Trying to patch the holes in my armor, reinforce the walls I've built around my heart. The same heart that I froze over, cut out, chained up and buried in rapid succession. Funny, then, how I still don't feel safe. Still not strong. I think I knew better, deep down, even as I made those decisions. It's easy to ignore things and run away. It's harder to let them in, to accept them, and grow as a person. Change is hard. Hurting is hard. And I just wasn't sure I could handle either of those things emotionally. I was scared. I still am. I figured that the only thing left for me was pain, and I would rather inflict it on myself than give someone else the pleasure. They can make the initial wounds, sure, but if they must be widened, if salt must be rubbed in them, then I will do that on me own. I won't give someone else the opportunity to break me.
If only I could learn to bend.
Why can I only be rigid, huddled behind my invisible walls, or else shattered entirely the moment I step out from behind them? Why is it so hard to accept change? I can't really say. I thought I had changed. But in the end I got hurt, then scared, and finally I scurried back behind my walls. But I still hurt, and I was still scared... So I put up more walls. I distanced myself from everyone. Everyone. No one knows how I'm doing or feeling anymore, because I don't trust anyone. I can't. I'm to afraid. Trust leads to betrayal. It's already happened. Too many times, and with people I never should have had to worry about hurting me in that way. But they did, and now I'm here. My emotional state is a labyrinth that even I don't know how to navigate. I can't answer as to how I feel. Just that it's not good. I don't know. I've been running from myself, isolating parts of my personality, and killing them off when they speak to much. I have a hard time laughing. My wit is all but gone, only surfacing for brief moments of cynicism or a barb-tongued deflection when someone pokes around where they shouldn't.
These walls aren't symbolic of strength. They represent a cage. A cage that I chose... Why would I choose this?
My distrust has had me running from everything, hiding myself away behind feigned smiles and offhanded, deliberately evasive replies. "How have you been?" The ask. "Just fine," I reply, because what else can I possibly say? I don't want to elaborate more than that, though the thought of weaving a happy tale has tempted me a few times... But I'd rather not lie more than absolutely necessary. Not only do I find it distasteful, but lies tend to unravel themselves the longer you permit their existence. On the other side of the coin, I have no intentions of letting anyone know what currents are raging beneath my relatively calm surface. Who'd want to sit through all that? No one. And besides, wouldn't that just give them more points to attack when they're done with me? I suppose that's the feeling I've come to settle on lately. That I am expendable. Worthless. The words don't even sting anymore. Mostly because I can't bring myself to deny it. I have no proof otherwise, so what's the point?
Even so, I am lonely.
I chose solitude and isolation. I'm afraid of being hurt, being tossed aside... And being alone. I hate being alone. My thoughts don't make good company. I wish more than anything I had someone to talk to. And the pathetic thing is that I did have people to talk to. But I pushed them all away. I don't talk to them. I'm too afraid. Now it's just me, huddled in one dark, lonely corner of my mind, while a storm of negative thoughts and emotions sweeps through the rest of it. I can almost hear the winds wailing through the labyrinthine walls, the pound of rain against imaginary windows that I boarded up all on my own. Oddly poetic, how a storm that no one can see can still cause such destruction. Poetic... And pitiable. How did I let it come to this?
My choices weren't strength. They were cowardice.
Even so, some feeble defiance screams that it wasn't only my fault. Yes, I made my choices, but I didn't make them randomly. There were reasons. I just wanted to stop getting hurt every time I tried to reach out. I just wanted real answers, definitive truths. And I don't think that's so wrong. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some resentment about the whole thing now. I tried my absolute best. I really, really did. But my only reward was silence. Over and over and over again. No one should ever have to apologize for the way they feel. And yet, there I was, doing just that and pretending it was fine. It was never fine. Of course it wasn't. It hurt. And that pain is now a tightly coiled spring of resentment, because damn it all that isn't right. I am a coward. I run away when I think I might get hurt. But you know what? At least I don't go around making people feel like their feelings aren't worth shit and shouldn't be expressed. If you feel a certain way, say it, because a feeling's not a choice. It's a truth. And it is valid, no matter what light it's viewed in. You have a right to feel the way you do at any given moment, and that feeling can only be right because it is real. No one can look down on that. Not ever. The choices you make, based on your feelings? Those are fair game. But if you feel a certain way, then that's fine. And you're free to say it. Sometimes you need to say it. And sometimes you need to know that your feelings were at least heard.
Perhaps I was being unreasonable.
Maybe acknowledgement was too much to ask. I don't know. I can't speak for anyone but myself. But I do know that letting it stretch on and on for that length of time was unfair. I'd even go so far as to call it cruel. And I wasn't strong enough to take that kind of cruelty, I guess. Maybe strength never had anything to do with it to begin with. Maybe strength was never necessary and I've been getting it wrong this whole time. Maybe... I hate that word so much right now. I wish I had answers. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew what to feel. But I don't have any of those answers, and there's no one around to help me search for them. I'm alone, because I chose to be. I chose my fear, but not because I thought I could conquer it. It was just another type of pain. One that I thought I could control. But I can't.
I always come back to this same contradiction.
I don't want to be alone. But I am terrified to reach out to people. I don't remember how to trust. What does being friendly even mean? How do I do that again? I don't know that I've retained those skills. I thought I wouldn't need them anymore. Haha, wrong again. Always wrong. The feelings of worthlessness don't help either. Who would want to waste their time on me when I so clearly don't bring anything to the table. Why bother trying to help someone you don't know, especially when there's no guarantee of any kind of payoff? What purpose do I serve? What am I supposed to be doing? Where am I supposed to be looking? Where do I go? How do I get there? Is it worth it? Can I even make it without falling back into this fortress I've built around myself? There has to be more than this. I caught a glimpse of it once or twice. Then it was gone. Was I chasing the wrong things? What should I have done differently? Does that even matter now? Does any of this actually matter? More questions. And not a single answer. The only answer I have is that I can't stay here, like this. I have to unpack all this garbage I've been carrying around and leave it behind. Which also means that I'm going to have to move. In one direction or another. I'm going to have to choose a path and walk along it, and hope that it doesn't lead back to this lonely corner of my mind, with the bitter wind and rain and boarded up windows. I'm going to have to take a risk, because if I don't, I might not be able to keep my promise after all. I can't let that happen. So I'm going to try.
I can't take it slow. I'll lose my nerve. I'm going to have to jump with both feet and hope that it's a soft landing at the bottom of whatever pit I launch myself into, and that I don't wind up shattering beyond repair. Wonder where I'll end up. Who knows? Maybe the wind'll take me, now I've dropped all this baggage, and whisk me off somewhere unexpected.
... I'm still running, aren't I? Some habits just don't die. It's okay, I think. Running is better than hiding away in one spot forever, right? Maybe if I run far enough I'll run into something good. Maybe not. I still hate that word. Even so, I can't help but wonder if anything will pursue.
-Lynx
