I\'ve lost. There\'s nowhere to go from here. Forever a blank page. Words unspoken used to be what was feared. Now I fear the things unwritten. It\'s all crashing down around me and I\'m stuck. I lost my voice, and even when I find the will to speak it\'s nothing but gibberish. Misunderstood words and meanings. I\'m not the same person I was. I used to write because it gave me freedom. It made me feel special. It was the one thing my family, well… my dad…, was proud of.
Now it just makes me hate myself more. I can\'t write like I used to. I had rhythm. I had style. I had structure. Now, I have nothing.
Nothing but the pain that I don\'t know how to express without feeling pathetic. And now not only do I feel pathetic but I feel like a monster. I became the thing I hated. The one who couldn\'t see the truth because they were blinded by their own wants or their own needs. Didn\'t care…
But I did care.
I tried so hard… in the end it didn\'t matter. It wasn\'t enough. It never is.
The more I write the more pathetic I feel and I don\'t know what to do anymore. I want to erase the page. The forever blank page is a wish. The truth is…
doesn\'t matter. It never matters. I… don\'t matter.
I\'m the black abyss who apparently only sees rainbows and butterflies because my life wasn\'t so bad right???
Well therein lies the problem. I\'m the black abyss where everything gets emptied into and because I go so far down that you can\'t see an ending (or is it a beginning?) Nobody sees me. You have no idea what\'s inside me and I\'m so sick and tired of people saying I\'m empty. Just because it\'s dark and you don\'t see it, doesn\'t mean it isn\'t there. I\'m a well.
I\'m everyone\'s fucking well!
So stop saying my life didn\'t mean anything and that I didn\'t go through shit and that it could be worse because you don\'t know what I\'ve been through.
I don\'t even know what I\'ve been through. I\'m the locked closet that I don\'t even go into because I\'m too afraid of what I\'ll find. But you get to sit there and say it\'s fine. The worst part is that I believe (d) you. And now I am you.
I think I\'m fine. So much so that my brain forgot there ever was a problem to begin with.
A blank page. Starting over from scratch. But I\'m not a blank page.
I\'m made up of forgotten memories and broken pieces, fit back together. You can erase the writing but the mark will always be there and I\'m so tired of people making me feel like I have no marks. I\'m nothing but marks. Marks I can\'t heal from because I don\'t even know what they\'re from. How do I fight in a room full of darkness? There\'s nothing but ghostly touches and eerie whispers that tell me it\'s all in my head.
How do I explain???
People make me feel crazy because they don\'t understand and I feel crazy because I don\'t either.
I just can\'t write like I used to. It doesn\'t make sense and I\'m rambling on but…
But nothing. Nothing is what I have. Nothing is what I was taught to believe. I am nothing because… because what? I didn\'t go through enough trauma? I went through too much? I\'m not smart enough? I\'m not pretty enough? I\'m not caring enough? I\'m not selfish enough? I\'m not strong enough? I\'m not weak enough? I\'m just not enough????
Well ok then.
I\'m sorry. I\'m sorry that I couldn\'t be whatever the fuck you needed me to be! I\'m sorry that I did the best I fucking could and you sat there and laughed, pretended like you cared when the truth is you were the problem.
But now it\'s too late. I\'ve become the problem. I\'ve become you and it\'s sad really. Two sides of the same coin, yin & yang, god & Satan, good & evil, right & wrong. Doesn\'t matter. It\'s all the same damn thing. It\'s about perspective, and perspective is a shitshow.