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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2216695
Rated: E · Essay · Emotional · #2216695
What is worse...being invisible to the world , or just to yourself ?

I sit alone. The world rushes past me as if I were on a train, speeding by while I sit still. Inside myself, within a torture chamber of my own making. Hiding in a cloak of pain that guarantees I will not bleed into the dangers of an internal prison of my own making. The condensation slides down the cafe window parallel to the tears that flow on autopilot.

These days my life has become routine, and there is a sense of peace in that. I tune out my thoughts, drinking to numb the webs of my memories. To hide into the darkness and allow it to drown me in oblivion.

The doctor told me I possessed a form of PTSD . I longed for a script of something to take the edge off, for release. I can no longer stop the flow of sadness that has creeped into my bones. I know I need to will myself to push forward, to make a move. Maybe I have become too weak, maybe Im scared to let go of what has defined me all these years.

It wasnt always like this. I once was truly happy. Fullfilled, even. I was thankful every night when my head hit the pillow, excited for the days to come. I went through my days as if nothing could touch the life I had built, that no harm could befall me. I felt safe. Secure. Content.

The hardest thing about being content, about being genuinely happy, is that you forget that it can all evaporate instantly. That there is always evil around each corner, that harm comes to some no matter how they have protected themselves. Or how hard they thought have shielded the outside world. I was not as protected as I felt, not shielded or armoured in any way for what was to come.

It was suggested that I keep a journal, to put my thoughts on paper so that I could look back and see how I have made my situation what it has become. So that it is real, and that somehow that would allow me to process the changes I need to make. To let go of long held in feelings and frustrations so that I may one day start over again. How long will I need to purge myself on paper ? Will this empty the weight that sits within me and allow me to float back into a life that has meaning and joy?

Today I awoke at dawn, one of my favorite times of the day. Before reality sets in and the world is still quiet and hopeful. The beckoning sunrise greets me with promise and I head to the kitchen to prepare my coffee. My morning ritual begins. Coffee on my balcony, before the bustling traffic starts and people with full lives walk the streets below, anxiously heading toward something or someone. Thats the time when it hits me. When the ache begins. When the lonliness begins to creep back inside me and I head indoors, rushing to close the blinds and hide from it all. This is when my thoughts overtake me. With noone around, scenes flash thru my mind like images from old movie clips. Though each one stabs through my soul I have almost become dependent on them. Probobly similiar to an addict, who knows the drugs will kill them but needs to go through the ritual for its all thats is left.

There is no one to distract me this. My life has become solitary : I say it is not by choice but mentally I know better. I have chosen to segregate myself from others, as being vulnerable only allows more pain to creep in. People seem to always dissapoint, to have a personal agenda .

I once had a great love affair. I call it an affair now because true affairs always end. At the time I thought I would never be without it, and we could face anything together. I was naive . Nothing is life is permanent but pain. Nothing else is a guarantee. In therapy they say that one must heal themselves and find happinness inside before others can be happy with them. Until my life blew up in my face, I blindly believed that love conquered all. That true love trumped any obstacle. I have learned never to say never. The things we think will never befall us are the things the universe is destined
to throw in our path.

On this day, as the noise from the street below began to intrude on my thoughts, I told myself today would be different. On this day, I would shower, get dressed and wear makeup. Quite a feat for me these days! I vowed to leave the apartment and move amongst the living to walk through the neighborhood as if I had a purpose, to merge into the crowds as if I too , belonged. I threw on a sundress light and loose, hiding a figure that I have become to loathe. Oversized sunglasses shielding me I headed out. The glare of the sun blinded me as the heat immediately penetrated my bare flesh. I turned toward the library, for the comfort of a good book is a wonderful distraction. Invisibly shifting through the crowds, I noticed a couple standing by the local bakery. Arm in arm, love in their eyes, two precious kids giggling at the site of Mom and Dad embracing. A family. That was all it took for the surge to hit me, and I had to turn back. Not just turn around, but almost run back to the confines I had left only moments ago. Tears pouring from my eyes, blurring my vision and sticking to my glasses. Something so simple had once again destroyed me.

I wonder if anyone will ever read my words, even as I type them out . I long to ask others if they know the pain I reveal. The total internal collapse like a dagger through the chest. The pulsating quickening of my heartbeat that takes my breath away. Am I the only one ? Are there others like me? Maybe they are out there, maybe we are all just invisible, searching for each other to bring ourselves whole again.

Once the day turns to dusk, I am renewed by the sense that tomorrow holds promise. Maybe even a little hope. Tomorrow I will try again, tomorrow I will push further. As my internal struggle begins to subside a bit, I think maybe if I look closer, take off my glasses, and truly "look" , that I will start to see again. To see the happinness in others without jealousy, to see the opportunities to engage, to make it all the way to the library. Maybe one day, I wont feel invisible. Maybe one day, I will find peace. Maybe. Until then, I will continue to drag the weight of my despair through the darkness and hope to leave it all behind me ... in the light of a new day.

© Copyright 2020 Penelope (penelope49 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2216695