She watches the arid winds blow across the barren wasteland of her mind. Scarcely feeling the hot wind on her numb figure.
Sharp inadequacies prick at the edges of her mind. The more poignant the prick, the farther into torpid oblivion she falls. Far away from all of that into a singular world of cheap bliss.
But as she careens through this delicious comatose, a knife is thrown through her heart in the form of lonely. So much as the typing of the word sends bitter pangs through her bright world of sunshine and fruity candy. Its a wrenchingly painful spasm through her small frame. She shudders to continue to think it, and pushes it away, because there is nothing to be done to ease that pain.
So the knife is extracted, and falls away, just as quickly as it came. A sizeable dent, which leaves a permanent mark, and a poisoned wound, take the place of the knife. Yet its all forgettable. Easily forgettable for now. It always must be, because to dwell on the loneliness and all of its negativity, is murder.
And this leads her to grasp frantically to any feelings which will wash away that one. She has been flailing wildly for an oasis for her mind, but now, she simply holds tightly to the sunshine she has for now. It keeps her going strong.
Its really, truely amazing, how I can take a wonderful, happy day and such nice feelings, and put such a negative twist on them. Swing a shade across the sun and paint everything in shades of black. I am not doing poorly at all, although I do tinge my perception of everything in that slightly dark shade.
This is not done to attract attention, or prove anything to anyone. Stripped down and bare, this is my natural tendency. When sunshine and happiness flow, something is horribly awry, when hope comes easy, it must be dragged down and buried. I must stomp and murder and crash and break everything bright, because the natural, unburdened high must be wrong. It must be a mask over something more painful, or worthless propensities of epidermal depth. Pain is easier, pain is deeper and more dimensional. Something crazy like that.
I suppose I seriously need an attitude adjustment. I flow with my pessimism so easily, I am floating in my little boat, being carried by the natural current. I should take up my oar and paddle against the current towards the rising sun. Maybe one day I will summon the strength and motivation.
Oh what a silly girl. I am going to go run off and be happy again.
Although now I think I taste a mood change on the wind. I have quickly downspiraled into self evaluation. You know, the kind where you conclude you really are That Bad. Yes. And I laugh and shake my head and shrug, I am really just like everyone else of course. I really am. No princess here. (This is not self deprecation...only knifing pride...)
Misfortunes one can endure. But to suffer for one's own faults -- ah! -- there is the sting of life
~Oscar Wilde
I feel this entry has been disgustingly self centered. Oh my. I am really not feeling that self centered, but being under a horrible writer's block and a lot of fatigue, there is a lot of strain to write about anything but my feelings...especially those of paucity. Nothing is bleak as it seems, nor as hopeless, nor do I view the condition of my self as so caustically desperate and inconsolable as my pessimism makes it out to be. Its just this blasted writer's block trying to paint everything in a ridiculously romantic light thus to be enjoyable.
I have to explain everything don't I...Heaven forbid I be misinterpreted.