Death... or so I thought

chapter one

Four letters long. A word that is launched so naturally, and yet holds such a dominating curse. Love leads to greatness. A feeling of euphoria, as if nothing could ever break you. However, it has the ability to shatter. To utterly break everything until you wish you had never discovered that word. The sound of it rings empty in your ears, gnawing at the hollow feeling in your stomach. Where the butterflies once were.

That's what this word does to me.

Reminding me of bleak times, those dark days when there seemed to be no happy ending, no escape.
You were my escape
Things change  rapidly, for better, or for worse. There's no way to stop it. Why would you even try?
It's often bearable. Change is good. Healthy. But..Every so often that one change occurs that physically changes you as a person. You feel as if your earth has shattered, no longer standing on firm ground, but instead frantically drifting in nothingness, grappling for any direction of which way to go. You are scared. And alone, with no manual to direct you.

Welcome, to the real world. Good luck.

Love. It's a powerful word used to describe deep passionate feelings, although for me it is a cursed word. A reminder of everything I had lost.
Myself?
Maybe.
Not physically of course. The same hair, eyes , crinkles when smiling. It was more the morality, the sensitivity that had changed. I had become a walking talking contradiction.

Countless hours spent curled in the corner, barely moving, hardly breathing. Time was lost while tears, now silent, streamed down my exposed face. The light soon faded to harsh darkness, bringing with it more demons. How can you try not to think, when overthinking js your speciality? The only thing you are certain that you know how to do. Contemplating what to do, I yanked harshly at my hair, my roots sore, the only pain I could bear to feel. Pathetic, useless, destroyed. So angered at life. At everything.

Death had always surrounded me in a harsh blanket of cold, reaching into my life and clawing out anything I cared remotely about. Chills numbed my aching limbs, no longer feeling anything. They left me. I was nothing, not anymore.

Devastated is not a strong enough word to describe a moment of that brutal day, When I was at my weakest. Turning my bedroom into a sparse cell filled with broken belongings, broken memories, and shattered dreams. The turmoil within me was reflected on my childhood bedroom, the place that had always been a haven. Thinking that the carnage would lessen the pressure building in my skull, if possible it made it worse.

I half hoped that the mirror would crack too, then I wouldn't have to witness the emptiness of my eyes or the dried, crusting streaks of mascara upon my cheeks that signified defeat. I could hide inside, pretend everything was the same. Unchanged. A distraction.

Preoccupied with the thought of freedom. I forgot about the real word. Real life isn't a book . There is no literary pyramid or climax and drama. It is consistent, all the way through. And only the lucky survive.
Unfortunately , luck has never been a strong point.

Saying that the meaning of life is death is like saying the purpose of a good meal is to shit it out afterwards. Depressing, a waste of time almost. Life is enjoyment. The little things; small walks in the rain laughing so hard you slip or when the wind blows so hard your umbrella turns inside out leaving you breathless and a mess , the feeling when you gaze into a pool of brown eyes and feel your breath hitch because this is a breathlessness like no other. It signifies you are living.

I am living.

How poetic