It’s been a while since I’ve written an honest piece. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be candid. I don’t know when I’ve started putting up this rather unconvincing facade. I need to break this silence before it breaks me.
It’s never one thing. Its a constant feeling that comes and goes, like the sea returning to the shore, as soon as its waves pulls it away – just less romanticized. It lurks and irks, it breathes only when I give it the power of thought. After a while, self-distraction loses its power and comfort. Not long after, I’ll have to face it again, in all it’s ugly. But one must surrender, at the risk of losing the ability to see things for how it really is, at the risk of letting distractions turn everything else into an escape from reality – into a fraudulent mortality. You must surrender to the silence.
It’s tricky thinking out loud in words, trying to express, without giving away too much, risking the inevitable of being analyzed and scrutinized. It’s terrifying admitting to my fear and shortcomings, but the most deleterious effects are caused when I suppress my thoughts and emotions in the deep belly of my being. It makes me shiver, like when a howl echoes in pitch darkness, and you know its coming from inside. At times it makes me swing my fist against the cold wall, in a spurt of anger. I feel like running, hiding, stomping, jumping, screaming and clawing from the inside. Try to tear away from my skin so that I evaporate into nothing just so that I can feel something else, aside from this. It’s scary being in silence, when you know you’re not alone.
Sometimes I go to my room, sit in lachrymose defeat, and taste the salty piquancy, like seasoning of my emotions. I question myself….what’s wrong? What do you want from me? What is this void? This vacuum harboring the jeering voices and inner demons like an emotional asylum. What is it that I have to do, to not feel this at the end of each day, before I wake to live another in this mental state? But I let my mind wander, I distract myself; the rough texture of flowering aged cotton against my skin, the light creeping through the blinds, the sound of a dog’s chain dragging against the floor, a whisk of wind, the incessant drip from a tap – and as quickly as it comes, I let it go. I don’t chase for the truth, because I’m afraid of it. Afraid that what I fear, is what defines me.
Poor little rich girl, let the silence break you.