Tonight, I feel again the echoes of everything just behind. And far behind. If I claimed I remotely knew where I am anymore, I would be lying. Or am I lying to myself? I'm too dizzy to think about it.
My eyes have bounced from one thing to the next, carrying me along at a pace hardly allowing time to breathe, let alone think. I didn't feel much, and I still don't. I thought maybe I was weightless, but I feel the whiplash now and I know that it was just momentum, graceful numbness until the speed collapses into empty time. Nothing but time, time to think and wish I could dream, time to wonder where I am, why I thought any of it was a good idea, why I still can't feel my own heartbeat by any means other than physical.
The question burns brighter, scalding and blinding, more and more with every day, every hour: Who am I?
The only answer I have: Not who I thought I was.
I see myself now, behind the curtains and the poise. I am weak. I am unclean and crippled, shot through the heart a dozen times over and half-braindead on overthinking. I have tried everything, but it all leads to greater and greater wounds, and I wonder now if maybe the wounds are a novelty I seek because I can't feel much else thanks to their ruin.
Alone. Alone.
Alone? But...I have friends. I have family. Is that not enough?
No. A voice from a tiny chamber inside. It is not. This is not enough. I am still alone.
Small-talking about the troubles I've faced is like taking cough syrup for a cancer. Only a surgeon could help me now, and all my friends know are home remedies and chicken soup. Sometimes a comfort, never a cure, always leaving me gasping for more. Save me, I'm dying! Do you even see?
Dramatic. Oh so dramatic, child. You just need one good day to break through this. One day of setting to your craft, one day of getting everything done before the sun sets, one day of reaching out to those friends, one day of good luck.
One day that never, ever comes. I'm starting to think you're lying, and it never will come.
Were anyone brave enough to take me on, I don't doubt I would cry my eyes out. I might well shake. But I need more. I need to scream this out. I am being ripped apart by energy I keep swallowing down, a supernova spreading through my veins, desperation and hopelessness, anger and bitterness, and the anguished crying of a lonely child. And the deep, violent frustration of an artist who cannot create, no matter how hard he works the gears in his mind. He can dream well enough, but his hands will not obey.
Maybe I should stop claiming to be a musician, since I obviously don't have the discipline or drive to make anything. Are all these plans in vain? Am I hoping for nothing? Am I just fantasizing about accomplishments I will never make to give myself some small sense of purpose, some lie to calm my disappointed heart?
I exist only for my own world these days, and the borders to the rest are growing thicker by the day, a hard shell. Maybe the fire growing in my blood is gathering to break through, but I don't have a clue what to do. I know that I'm dependent on everything I cannot control, and I've long lost touch with the only One who can. He feels cruel, even though I know that this could have great potential, and perhaps still will. I hope.
But hope is tasting so bitter right now. Ever eaten the same meal for months on end?
I feel alone.
I feel so alone.
Will this ever end?
I pray that it doesn't destroy me from the inside first.
