harsh
I’ll cease my intentions if that’s what you so please. For the first time in many you have proven me wrong, shown me the extent you are willing to go. I can be understanding and erase your mark, but then again, this has masses to say. My stomach is drained and my skin is crawling, sensations I have escaped for consecutive mornings. Perhaps you were unconscious of my intent, but then again, the harsh disappointment still sits at my step. The letter I scribed has been stored away; perchance you’ll be loyal on a following day.
My words soothe me during this time of desperation. It is as if I am being counseled by a friend, but oh how incorrect that is; I’ve come to the harsh realization that there is no human in existence that can relieve me of these loveless hours.
storm
It was storming when I realized I left my baby in the car. I ran out to find her, to hold her in my arms and express my deepest apologies although she would be incapable of comprehending.
When I reached my car, she was gone. The window wasn’t shattered, not even a mere scratch. The doors were still locked, the handle still intact; but she was gone.
I laid beneath the oak tree and hyper ventilated until the outside ran out of oxygen to provide me with. I grasped the grass near me and stared into the sky, allowing the rain drops to pierce through my eyes and sting me to the core. My understanding was that I deserved some amount of physical pain. My mental pain was no longer on the scale. Thunder calms me. I felt the vibrations of the earth flood into my body and steal some of my agony. I let the ground soak up the pain; the blood bleed through the crevice my body had created. My screeches were inaudible, though I’m not sure if I was screaming at all.
Symptoms of psychosis
I am once again beginning to exhibit symptoms of psychosis. My loss of reality is damn well out of reach. The truth may very well be staring at me dead on and I will continue to be under the impression that I am being falsely led. Is this what one begins to experience after years of infidelity? How is it that, for the nth time, I am parked outside this house that does not even belong to you. Your car, or at least a replica of your car, has been parked outside for days on end and I am beginning to believe you carelessly leave your cars in random areas across the town. Your soothing voice on the other end of the phone states otherwise; tonight a simple phone call would be sufficient enough to cease all suspicions but at times even that seems to be too difficult a task. For someone under your constant fear, a mere message on a screen could be enough to destroy your pretense.
It can not be normal for me to witness you exiting the premises which you claim you were located at throughout the night and I am still felt I am being lied to. Oh, how tiring these claims of betrayal can be.
Paint the Walls Red
As if losing my hair wasn’t enough, I was beginning to lose my memory. What day was it? Trash littered the floor and the calendar had long been forgotten. Sometimes, when my body was cooperating and I could find the courage to, I’d sit out on the porch but at the first sight of a human I would scurry back into my cave. Why my mind must be tortured with thoughts of paranoia and anxiety, I don’t know but it was tearing me apart.
Food was a distant thought. My stomach surely has shrunk to less than half its normal size and with meals no longer a necessity, I could find no logical reason to interact with others. One would think that I’d have at least one distant relative or fairly close acquaintance but sadly I have no one but myself. I believe I cannot be saved.
I can’t explain what caused me to become a corpse. I was fine, as fine as anyone can be in this world, and then everything around me became unappealing. No longer did I want to socialize. I would stare at common household items and it was as if it was foreign. This hairbrush meant nothing to me. Personal hygiene was nonexistent. I believe everything went downhill when I allowed my phone to die. All communication ended and in some way I was content. Perhaps the stress of humanity got to me.
Once you’ve secluded yourself to a couple of rooms, the outside world seems terrifying. Knocks on the door might ass well be gun shots. Familiar faces have been blurred in my memory.
The walls around me have become my closest friends. Luckily, I found paint in the broom closet and spent a large portion of my time painting and repainting the walls where my bed laid. Currently I had painted all four walls red and splattered black and yellow and green onto them. There was no identifiable pictures on the wall, just random spurts of color.
It happened unexpectedly one night. I was awaken by what sounded like a semi truck backing into my window yet there was no shattered glass so that surely was not the case. I sat up in my bed and attempted to pull the string that would cause my lamp to turn on. It was quite a battle for some reason. I was ninety percent asleep still.
When I finally succeeded in lighting my room, something seemed strange. The walls were pulsing; they were breathing. I gazed at them for quite awhile, waiting for them to stop so I could peacefully fall back to sleep but these walls were alive. I concentrated on their breathing so much that I myself forgot how to breathe. I began gasping for breaths and forcefully grabbing my covers and then my throat and looking around in every direction. These walls must stop! They must be destroyed for they are stealing all of the air. The covers were now on the floor and I was up against the wall. Perhaps if the wall and I began breathing in unison then we could somehow share the air. What selfish walls I had and to think that I spent all of my time dressing them to look as beautiful as possible. Now the walls began to do a very peculiar thing. Even though I had not painted humans onto the walls, there now appeared to be three people staring right at me. Who got into my house and painted these? I haven’t unlocked my doors in months, someone must have broken in. That would explain the sound I heard. They must have cleaned up the broken glass before they left.
I moved my bed to the middle of the room which was not difficult since it was simply a mattress and positioned myself towards the strangers. I wondered what they were thinking about even though it was obvious that it was about me since I was the only other person in the room. Sleep was out of the question.
The lady in the middle had an extremely odd face. Her head was tilted to the side and she seemed to be continuously blinking and licking her lips. The man beside her was shaking as if he was nervous and sometimes his eyes would disappear completely. I was unaware of how he was capable of doing this. The last person was just a silhouette. A black silhouette of I’m guessing a lady with her hands on her hips.
All three of the people were quite large and one had an apple. My mouth began to water. I have forgotten what an apple tastes like but that one looked amazing. I began to chew and I swear I could taste the sweetness in my mouth. I wondered if they would be kind enough to share. By the look of their frames they are not as famished as my frail body. I cursed myself for not having the nerve to walk over there and demand the apple. They were in fact in my room without permission. I had the upper hand.
I snapped back to my senses.
That apple must be poisoned. It was colored black with a slight tint of green and now that I am staring at it more directly I could make out the red blood dripping from the bottom. As soon as the blood hit the bottom of the wall it whisked up back to the apple and continued to drip down again.
How could I for one second believe that they came into my room to feed me? They don’t care about me; they don’t even know me. I have never seen these people in my life and now in my mind I am actually thinking that they have come with good intentions. I slapped the lamp beside me and instantly regretted it.
The room was pitch black. I plunged to the ground in search for the lamp but just ended up cutting myself with the glass particles. Quickly, I reentered the bed and pulled the covers over my head. It turns out they were just as coward as I because they began to converse now that the lights were off and they were not staring straight at me.
I could not make out the words but there were a few that were comprehensible. Knife. Jello. Desert. These people made no sense whatsoever. “Speak up!” I screeched. “Speak up about the knife and the jello and the desert!
No response. What imbeciles.
Eventually they grew quiet. I peaked my head out from under the covers and squinted in an attempt to see if they were still in the same place. I doubt they were. My stomach began to growl. I began to panic. They’ve been silent for too long. I wish my hearing was as a cat so I could hear their footsteps. I held my stomach and listened closely.
Creeeakkkkk.
Glass was definitely being stepped on. They were near.What did they want! It is impossible for me to have done something to upset them. I have been in this room for too long.
Wait, I have been in this room for too long. So long that I have forgotten why I was in this room to begin with. Reality began to hit me. I ignored the echoes of the three stooges around me and plotted what I would do when the sun rose.
Hours later I saw the sun flow in from under the door. I ran to it and opened the door so the sun could flood my sure to be wrecked bedroom.
The lamp was still shattered by my bed but the walls were white.
The walls were white.
Before I could reflect on what I was about to do, I threw a jacket on and walked out of my house.
Just like my walls, the ground was white. I was totally oblivious to the fact that it was winter. Oh how beautiful this white wonderland was. I tiptoed to the yard and stepped in the snow. I felt refreshed for the first time in months.
Leaving my house was not as difficult a task as I made it seem. I can’t lie and say that I am reconnecting with lost links but I am able to walk two blocks to the nearest grocery store and I actually made eye contact with the cashier two weeks ago.
Apples are overflowing in my fridge.
merely nothing
Perhaps your silence does carry some rewards. With your neglect ion of communication, I am put in a state of such numbness and dis care that I am able to withstand the harshest and most dreadful of days. Yes, I have experienced these days of mental solitude numerous times before (those far more threatening to my sanity that that of this hour) but currently a discrete anger is welling up yet blanketed by the nothing feeling rising up throughout my corpse. No other word can be used to describe such a phenomenon- merely nothing.
