Yet Another Piece About Myself
repetitive subject matter. you should be done with me at this point. haven’t i said enough?
I’ve hurt you. I know I have. I’m sorry. The truth is, I don’t hate you; I hate myself.
I’ve spent this whole year wanting to die. Waiting to die. My happiness is trapped by an invisible ceiling under the clouds. I can’t reach the atmosphere anymore. I don’t laugh so much these days. I don’t smile so much these days. I don’t make friends so much these days. And whenever I do, I can’t help but wonder… is this real or is this fake? It concerns me that it’s something I can’t separate.
I’ve spent this whole year pursuing something that wasn’t in my heart. I chose this path for the stability, security, and wealth, and my soul felt the pain of the misdirection almost instantaneously. Skipping classes on the first day, turning into weeks, then into months. My feet are swollen with gout, despite hardly taking a step. The path was just a smokescreen. The vines grabbed my legs and squeezed its thorns into my skin, piercing and creating bloody spiral patterns across my body, marking myself as its slave. I shed for it every day, and it does nothing but tighten its grip on me. I can feel a thorn poking my liver, and another prodding my stomach. I’m days away from being slashed and torn, just like everybody else.
But I changed the outcome. I took the vines, and I tore them out of my body, thick blood rushing from the roots, draped in red paint from neck to knee. I’ll adorn my scars as I drag myself over to my new path, open air flowing into the contracting gashes strewn along my back, my gills. If I survive the transition, maybe I can learn to breathe for myself again. Maybe I can choose where and when to puncture myself. Because we all have to bleed sometimes, but only some of us can bleed for purpose, rather than obligation. Is that so selfish?
And… the invisible wall might not go away, but maybe the roof will raise a little. I don’t expect the atmosphere, but I’d love to be able to touch the clouds, even just for a moment.
I’ve hurt you. I know I have. I’m sorry. The truth is, I don’t hate you; I love you. And I’m learning how to love myself.