Lack of honesty

Today I had something I really wanted to say, but after having to revise it multiple times, and eventually giving up and not saying it at all, I was reminded that I can't really be honest or open with anyone. All my communications go through a filter. I don't think there's ever been anyone who knew what was really going on inside of me at a particular moment. Even when I want to tell people things, I can't. There are so many reasons why I can't confide in people. For this individual it's such-and-such a reason. For this group, it's because of so-and-so.

I can't confide in anyone but God, and it gets a little hard just whispering my thoughts and feelings to a seemingly empty sky. I mean, I know He's there, but when I don't feel him and I don't get a response, it can be a bit hard. Especially about certain things. Things where I need advice. Where I'm feeling lost without someone to help me work through things. In those cases, I wish I had someone I could talk to.

Even this post is going outside my comfort zone. And I already did that once today with negative results. I just wish sometimes that we never had to change. That we could find our comfort zones and never budge. Sure, it may still be lonely, but at least it's not painful too.

3 am

It’s always three am when it hits her hardest. The depression, the loneliness, the uncertainty. It’s the time when she might once have prayed or cried, but she’s forgotten how to do both. Prayers and tears are reserved for special occasions. They don’t mean an awful lot anymore. Three am is almost a ritual by now. When she’s sleeping it’s not nearly as bad, but she’s hardly ever sleeping by then now.

She thinks while she waits for sleep. Tangled threads of shadowed half-thoughts. Rarely words, just feelings and cold. She knows she’s missing something, but she can’t think of what. She knows something’s wrong, but she can’t find the problem. Perhaps everything is problem, the forest hiding in the trees.

Sometimes she thinks of music, words floating though her head in a mismatched melody. Lyrics that tell a story until her heart threatens to stop and her thoughts run away from a note too close to home. She forgets what the words said. She always forgets.

Sometimes she thinks in words, disjointed phrases that lead her in dizzying circles of rational. Sometimes her words spill out in the dim glow of a monitor or whispered pleas for something, anything to change this. She thinks she prays sometimes, but the words feel all wrong and her thoughts run away from that as well. Praying makes her feel too empty, too alone. She doesn’t like the emptiness. It hurts more than numbness.

Sometimes she thinks about him. Her half-formed wish. Her thoughts turn to dreams and she smiles. But only on the good nights. Other nights she thinks of him and her hollow chest stabs her throat. She knows better than to believe in dreams. She wishes she could make that fluttering in her stomach when she sees him understand.

Once in a while a tear wets her eye lashes. It’s the most she cries at three am. She lets the moisture dry in the air. It makes her feel alive, human. She wishes she could remember how to sob. The cavity in her chest seems filled with oceans. But tears don’t fall for depression, or loneliness, or uncertainty. Tears fall when she thinks of her siblings. Tears fall for her family.

She cried at midnight on her nineteenth birthday. She sobbed for hours, away from home, in another’s room. She sobbed for her sister and her brothers, for her parents, and the home she couldn’t wait to escape. She sobbed for the years slipping away and the years yet remaining. Since then she spends more time at home. Since then she cares more about birthdays.

At three am she lies awake and tries to breathe evenly. She holds still despite the tumult of her mind. She tries not to wake the girl in the next bed. At three am she stares at the cold digits and waits for her mind to slow. For the tangled threads to twist into dreams. At three am she sits in the glow of the monitor and does not cry.

I checked and it's impossible. I can't remember the last time I wanted to cry so much.

I can't wait till Mar gets here in an hour. It'll help. But this next week is still going to be one of the hardest of my life.

And I'm glad no one really reads this blog. I feel so pathetic complaining about things like this. But at least no one will be irritated by it.

This next week is going to be one of the hardest of my life. I'm already on the verge of constant tears. It feels so wrong not to be packing and bustling and trying to get ready. It's almost unbearable to think that I won't get to see everyone, laugh with everyone, write with everyone. My eyes ache to see mountains again. I feel like Bilbo. I long for the adventures I've grown to rely on. Moot has gotten me through two years. Now I'm in the midst of one of the craziest and most difficult in many ways and I'm stuck here without it. What am I supposed to do? I feel so alone and, I hate to admit it, forgotten. I feel as if it was only through Moot that I could really bond with those I love and now, without being there, I know others will become close with each other and I'll be left out of the mix, the jokes, and the stories. I already find it hard enough to talk to people online. Now, missing Moot, it's inevitable that before long I'll lose my place among CPers altogether.

I'm with people all the time now a days. I see people on a regular basis, I go to the mall, I hang out and see films. I have a social life that I never had before. And yet I feel as lonely as I ever did. I miss the relationships I used to have. I miss the way things used to be. And I don't know how to go back to that from a distance. I don't know how to fix things apart from face-to-face.

I needed Moot this year. I was so sure I would be going. I felt in my heart that God would work things out. I thought I felt Him telling me so. But it's not happening. And now I don't know what to do.

I just want to curl up and cry... I feel so pathetic.

I feel so empty right now. So totally depressed... and I think I may know why and it's the stupidest reason. I just... wish I could cry. But I feel trapped in myself. Tears won't come.

How far I've come.

Today I realized how much I've changed. I've been off all day and something happened to make me really upset about a half hour ago. About 20 minutes later after my roommate went out for a walk I picked up a pair of scissors and put them away. This may not seem like a big deal, but up until as recently as a month or two ago I would have at the very least felt an intense urge to cut, but it wasn't until the scissors were already back in the pencil holder that the thought of cutting even crossed my mind and it was in the context of "I didn't want to."

I didn't realize how far I've come until that moment.

I'm tired.

And Sims 3 is a bit addictive.