my personal essays

entry fifteen

  i have found that i've become an enemy with my identity. we tear each other's skin apart in front of the mirror. i tell him to stop talking, to stop pulling out too much, to stop letting too many people in, but he never listens. out at sea the sun guides me, but i'm afraid he's given up. from m my mannerisms, to the way i walk, or how i choose to dress that day because the scale never stays the same, always moving, shifting, changing from day to day, losing and gaining a pound of this skin and my pride. it may seem i want to preserve the outside, but it's more the pain, discomfort, and cobwebs on my poor, unfortunate soul. i try and clean it by scrubbing and shaving my body, yet my heart has gone black from his, my, torture and neglect to the place that keeps getting stabbed over and over and over and over again. pounding, pounding that blade in. so much blood, thick, salty, and red, i drink it. the purpose of this is to realize, not what i'm doing, but what i should. that is the part, the truth that hurts the most. then i see on the scale: a number above 130, and i know my soul is doomed because a million different chemicals rise and plates shift. this experience is similar to that night. a night that'll never be forgotten, but will only be known between you and i. see, this is exactly what i'm trying to say. here is where i cave in while my mortal body roams free without a compass or a key. now he sits back to watch. i'd like to talk and confront him, but he lives all the way in Amsterdam. no, no, i can't go there, too much freedom, too much me. suddenly, i'm eighteen, breathing, living. living as all my actions will come back to me, directly. yes, i'm afraid of what i'll do, of what he'll say. i'm afraid of when he punches me if i'll need more than a bandage on this already stitched up soul. maybe my voice will get louder, maybe quieter, but it'll always be strong, no matter what i choose. let's embrace the point of no return because we don't already embrace it enough. my fingers are white as i swerve the wheel. i am weightless, physically and spiritually. (maybe) a peculiar sense rises in my stomach. i thought, "oh yes i did it; it was the drop!", but no, no, no it twas not the night before Christmas nor the drop. every creature in my body was stirring and the black sky i saw through my windshield was starless. here i take notice the sky no longer has a purpose, starless. i know he's watching me, knows what i'm thinking, so i wink in his direction. he winces; it stabs him through the heart. no predator, no prey, i'm just in the air, flying, flying, going far, far away. please don't give your opinions on fake possibilities of us, of me. i know we have one common identity. i'd like to believe in mine. i'm sure you would too. all of this is just me, trying to get over this hurdle of him over you: identity.