The Descent of Awakening

When you get a pit in your stomach and a feeling of nausea, the kind with weight that you feel slowly over a long period of time, and you think without much sense that you must be going numb.

When you lose yourself in a myriad of emotions, you cry, you run to the toilet to be sick, and you worry about the people you love with a keen sense of loss and grief as if they are already gone, and you realize you have been numb for some time.

This is not when you go numb. This is when you begin to wake, when you begin to feel again. And in the midst of the bitterest feelings of sorrow, you think this must be the beginning and that things must get better from here.

But you’re not sure you really believe it.

Momentary

I momentarily forget the pain my heart is in. How that is possible, I don't know. My tired mind not only forgot why I was sad, but when I remembered, was still not sad in the same sense. Not only was my mind affected by this momentary lapse in attention, but my whole being, my whole body, felt different. The weight that had been on me was gone, though only until I finally lied down in bed. My tired body relaxed after an exhausting night of stressfulness. And as the exhaustion seeped out of my body merely through the relaxation of my muscles, the heaviness seeped back into my bones, ready to destroy me for another day. I remembered what was so sad, even if I couldn't quite feel it yet. My body could feel it even when my heart and mind couldn't. But the heaviness is more than merely a weight on my body, but also on my soul. A connection I made long ago has been severed, by no desire of mine. It's not the same as breaking up or drifting away. That being is no longer here at all. That entity no longer exists. I feel his absence more strongly that I have ever felt anything in my life. I have missed him before while away, but nothing like this. This is the weight of not only a knowledge of his complete and total absence, but a deep understanding of it, a feeling you can't shake, a heaviness ever present with you even when you are thinking of or doing something completely unrelated. It only left momentarily because of my exhaustion. The weight may continue to lift at intervals as time goes on, but it will never truly leave me. I can never be the same person as I used to be, because I will never have him again, and who I was was who I was with him. Now I will be who I am without him. I just don't know who that is yet.

Eyes

The eyes terrify me. Those chasms of blackness staring back at me. I think I see evil behind them. I see an ugly human being with an ugly mind. I see the sorrow and the anger held behind the eyes, dying to be seen, desperate to come forth. Terror forces me to turn, to look away, to avoid the glances despite the desire to stare. There is no immediate resolution. I simply must forget the eyes when I am not looking at them. Until again, I see those eyes. I have seen them countless times between, but I notice them once more. They are at once fear-inducing and calming. I look more closely, and I realize that the eyes make more sense now. They are matched by a sorrowful face. No fake smile accompanies the doleful eyes. Not evil; out of place. Out of context it is unsettling, this sadness. But when confronted with the undeniable truth of the eyes and the mind behind the eyes, they seem at last in place, if not unwanted. The willingness to acknowledge a feeling can allow for acceptance of the symptoms, understanding of the consequences of emotion. It is difficult to accept the actions of others, not to mention the catalysts within the others' brains. It is even more difficult to accept our own actions, our own anger, our own lack of rationality. The eyes terrify me because if I want to see them, they must see me, piercing into my very soul, seeming to perceive something I cannot, their pupils following mine in the mirror, never relenting, yet never unveiling what secrets they have uncovered.

Caring

I remember why I stopped caring the way I used to.

It hurts too much.

Sometimes when I'm sad I still feel it.

Feeling every person's sadness.

Enduring every person's pain.

Experiencing the sorrow of each person vicariously.

It wears on your mind.

It wears on your emotions.

My own pain is more than enough.

Yet I have lost all sense of empathy.

Only my own pain matters.

Only my own sorrow.

Only my own hurt.

And then I become the person I am today.

The person who doesn't care.

Evenings

I was watching the lightning in the north sky. It might have been heat lightning. It reminded me of last night when I watched the lightning tear through the sky, the same sky, both brilliant and terrifying at the same time. The fact that I was driving didn't help the matter. The thought of being struck pervaded my mind much of the trip. But this was different. It was far away, not causing explosions in my field of vision, with thunder echoing its response to the fissures of light spreading downward from the heavens. It reflected the internal workings of my being. Just as much as I was panicked last night, I am calm tonight. I am too alone to panic. Loneliness is like a drug. It is an addictive substance that is at once calming and terrifying. Strong emotions flee, unable to resist the pervading force of emptiness, of sorrow. Like the heat lightning in the distance. Perhaps it is something that should frighten. But the subtle beauty of it, the sad solemnity of its silence, drive away all thought of fear. A calmness spreads its way through your body, through your mind, because it feels safe, it feels empty.

Useless Tears

I feel so alone. So alone. Even God feels like He is not here. My heart hurts. My eyes fill with tears. I cannot contain all of the sadness inside of me and it seeks to leave through the salty tears leaking from my eyes. As though they could really help. As though they will alleviate the sorrow within me, as though they will lessen it at all. What good are tears? They will not help my pain, they will never take away my hurt. My heart aches and my response is to cry? What good will it do me? What will crying do besides stain my cheeks with tears? How can it ever make me feel better? But even though I scorn them, I know I will not be able to stop them. I cannot hold them off for long. I can already feel this building inside of me, pressing outward on my chest, trying to escape, and then constricting upon my heart in an attempt to force the cries from me. And soon I will give in, for even these words do nothing to console me.

7-8-12 11:09PM

Of Love Unfelt

I desperately want to know of this love
And in my life love feel.
If only their affections were real
And there was truth in the love they spoke of!

At times I wonder if they comprehend
The sadness they inflict on my heart
By the way they've turned lying into an art;
My soul pleads for it to come to an end.

If only they had one glance to see
The way their actions deal me a terrible blow
And fill me with such a great sorrow,
Perhaps then they would no longer lie to me.

If I knew not one of them I'd be free, I say - free!
For my joy they ruthlessly steal away
And yet they are still bold enough to say
How they love me and care about me.

Yet I wonder if I could even survive on my own -
For even the false sentiments they have shoved
In my face, at times, make me feel like I am loved.
I contemplate this: Would it be better or worse to be alone?