These Wounds Won't Seem To Heal, This Pain Is Just Too Real... Feb 19 '03    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Anna Dewdney - Llama, Llama Red Pajama From $10 Irene Hunt - The Lottery Rose: A Novel From $6 The Bottom Line Dear Claudia, Jen, and Jen Hi Chickies My need to reach out and feel your essence is just one of those imperative must-haves of the moment. The night has been a rough one. Laying in bed, I am exhausted, but wide-eyed and alert to anything, everything, and nothing. Thoughts are regurgitating in a continuous, vomiting motion. Round and round, where do they go? Where they stop, I just don't know. It's quite overwhelming to the point that I have to remember to breathe. Breathe. I have to get up or I fear of being held permanently captive by my worst fears. I wander around searching for answers to questions I can't even begin to pose. Can't worry bout that. Instead, I need to see things that I've never seem to notice before. There are crinkles in the sheers. They're quite beautiful. Shine a bit of light on them and the crinkles look silky and refined. I close my eyes and think about the time where I had just deep conditioned my hair and it felt the same way. The dinner knives have 27 serated ridges. Don't they get dull after awhile? What happens to knives when people have no use for them anymore? I wonder if every time I drink out of a plastic cup with advertising on it, am I consuming some of the artwork? Of course none of it is relevant to the other thoughts that have yet to extinguish themselves. Back to the beginning... Strange, but for an entire ten days, I couldn't listen to music. It's like my body was rejecting it like a bad organ transplant. The moment of truth came and my being reacted appropriately, releasing ten days of hate, rage, passion, and fear. I never cried until the music started playing. It's like an automatic trigger-effect now. Music. Cry. My face has etched out a road map in which the tears decide to only occasionally follow. Even they can't give in to the smallest of my desires. The dry and tightness that finally sets in is a realization that it's just not over. My mouth tastes as sour as my stomach feels and I have moments where I just wonder where this is all going. I'm so used to being this entity of strongness and determination and all I feel like now is the chards of glass remains, my resilience weakening as they evaporate into a fine sand, dust. Poof! If you catch any of those grains, collect enough to make me whole again, k?

Read all comments (6)|Write your own comment

Write an essay on this topic.