Feelings and emotions, screaming in my brain, a cataclysm of emotion and terror and everything that I can't handle anymore. I'm trying so very hard to battle these things inside of me, but it's a rush that I can't handle without my own little rush of red and screaming crimson further within my mind, an end to apathy that circles within me desperate and alone, forever desperate.
Welcome to my panic attacks.
Spiraling down, down, down into a hole, fiery worthless chaos that flashes through my heart with a thousand stars that fall with each breath I take, never to reclaim their place in the sky, their undoubted destiny that will never be fulfilled.
It ends, it ended so very long ago but it is something that I can never be free of, and I'm not sure that I want to be. I'm not sure if I can live this way, without fulfilling my needs and desires to see red against white, palest skin burning with cold blood, for that is what I am; a cold-blooded, worthless nothing that screams in agony at the barest touch of the truth. There is no truth. Everything is the truth.
When I was small, I used to ask my father if I could be a gray or a white like Gandalf, because Gandalf was my hero, and Gandalf could make everything better. Everyone looked up to him and knew that whenever he was there, they were safe, and the world was good because everything was taken care of, and nothing truly bad could ever happen.
I wanted to be that person, the one that everyone turned to as the pillar of strength when the world went wrong, the person that was the strength of the world with the brilliant wisdom and the smile in her eyes. I wanted to be the person that everyone looked up to, that could answer every question and if she couldn't, knew where to look. Endless knowledge, but it keeps growing, everything that I've always dreamed of flowing through my veins and into my mind.
Now I am that person, the one that everyone turns to when things go wrong, and sometimes I wish that I wasn't. Calls at 4 in the morning crying because the world has fallen from grace, a crack in the shade of the world with light pouring through, unbeloved light that will never be shown in my mind, my heart. The one that everyone turns to for the good advice, the comfort and strength, and yet I can be none of these things for myself.
I'm sitting here, alone, trembling in fear and I cannot know who I am anymore.
I don't know who I am anymore.
I don't know anything anymore, and I'm not sure why. I don't know the whys and the hows of the universe except that the only time I'm safe now is when I'm sleeping, until the nightmares come. Until the nightmares shake the foundations of my reality and make me question my objectives and my life-learned lessons, everything that I've ever known trembling in fear from the dreams that scream at my soul.
A tide of rain and tears that intermingle, though I know that compared to some, my life is grand. I feel guilty, now, for writing these entries, for writing about the things that shatter my mind and heart, because it seems as if I have never truly known tragedy from these entries (buthowmanyofyouhaveasked?), even when I know in my heart the things that have happened over the course of my life, and I can see that there are shards of glass in the path.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm still following the path, or if the path has left me.
Where did I go wrong?