Something Mending -- VOL 1

07

       Unshed tears.

        Clenched jaws.

    Breathing in.

       Breathing out.

                       Trying so hard to hold it in.

                         There is a certain capacity of pain I can endure before I break.

                          I don't like coming home. Home is a Warfield!. Home doesn't feel like Home!. It's tearful.

                          Sometimes when the world I live in gets too much to bear, I escape. I escape through my writings. I began to live in moments through my books. I began to live my characters live. My writing is my escape.

                          Writing is my escape as well as my prison. It calms me just as it disturbs me. The voices in my head keep getting louder with every second that passes. I have to write. I must write. Keep writing, hoping that one day the voices would shut up, hoping one day the voices would fade but it doesn't, it never stops. It forces me to write. I must write, when I don't my body attacks me with headaches, itches, sadness, it makes lash out on people, to prevent this, I write, Hereby---My Prison.

                            I hate to be sad but I don't have any choice, when I laugh there's sadness at the edges because I'm aware that it won't last so it safe to say, I'm always Sad.

                            I look back, trying hard to remember a time I didn't feel this way, a time I didn't feel sad and depressed but I can't remember, I try to but I can't remember because there's nothing to remember, because there's never been a time when I was not sad. I've been depressed since I can remember.

                             I hate it. I hate been sad but happiness is something we queens can't have. I know that's negative and pessimistic but it's the truth. I am sad. The voices never stops. I'm in a box and I'm the one that lock me in. I'm in a prison and I'm the one with the key.

                            This is becoming too heavy to carry. My writings ain't helping anymore. Shouldn't I just die?. The headache is getting worse. The tears are threatening to fall, threatening to break the barrier and fall!, but it mustn't. I must be cold. I must be stonecold. I'm learning how to be, day by day.

                             Maybe tomorrow I won't feel this way, maybe I won't.

                              I felt it, but I faked it.
   
______ ellie a. o.

RANTS.

this is one of my most treasured and most personal piece.