atlas is shivering

16 3 10
                                    

I look Andrew in his eyes as I smile and take a sip of my wine. He has a worried look in his eyes, How I despise that look. I don't want to be seen as a charity, a problem, a case, a file, a patient. He puts his hand on my cheek. "Why so sad?" He says with his voice echoeing the angels. I smile "I'm not sad" I lie, well is it a lie if you don't really know if it is? "I'm alright, just stressed after such a week. Don't worry about me darling." I say. "Are you sure?" He asks, and I nod, knowing I am not. But I'm not saying it out loud, is it a lie than?

I walk away, from the conversation, from my feelings, from the stress. From the fact that I need to be vulnarable. The garden is cold as it hugs my chest and it feels as If it is too tight to breathe. I breathe out the slow white smoke of the temperature as I light my cigarette. The warmth coming from the burning tip feels comforting in the palm of my hand, the strange sting as it comes too close to hurting me. I feel a stupid, unimportant tear in my eye. But what about me isn't unimportant, I curse this strange trivial state of being. I am nothing but not, I am something unrecognizable, something people are not familiar with, nothing about me is remarkable.

On good days I forget how I hate myself, How I wish to be different. I wish to be anybody but Atlas, give me the pleasure of being Andrew, or Orion or anybody! Give me the pleasure of not being me, not being this strange creature that does not know what to do with himself and curses the mere fact of this existence. I close my eyes and try to forget, I want to forget but I promised myself so much. I can't cope the way I used to, I won't start again.

So take a deep breath Atlas, walk around the block with music blasting on your headphones. Deny the fact you've smoked too much this week. Deny the fact that you feel yourself slipping, Deny the fact that you are slowly forgetting the reasons why you've stayed, deny the fact that your wrists are aching, begging for the habits, deny yourself the fact of being you. Because if you do, you might have a chance of being okay.

Splash your face with ice cold water in an effort to feel like you're living, not dreaming. Keep telling yourself you're real over and over and over again. till the sentence alone drives you insane. Everything looks skewed, everything looks unreal, every touch feels foreign. I want to tell you, I want to explain, I promise, I'd like to ask for help. But I feel like it makes it real, this all should be locked up, it won't be true if I am the only one who knows it. Our society has created this landscape of the corrupt feeling that everything is accepting but whenever you tell them what you mean the poisonnous gas of the unfathomable truth comes to light. The jealous eyes of judgement and the scary shadows of what they call help, but that help only drives me further in my damn pit, and yes, I know that I am the one digging it. But how do I stop if it's all I've ever known?

I look into the eyes of my reflection as I beg myself to quit shivering, to quit feeling like this. But What am I feeling? I beg myself to understand it, but however much I pray, however much I beg it does not help. I feel a strange fear setting in, it is the fear of something macabre, I am not sure if it is the fear of losing my life or the fear of not being able to decide when to cut it off. I am standing here feeling myself falling from exhaustion or stress. I sit down and lean against the wall in order not to fall. My lungs feel like they're being compressed, my body is shivering and all my muscles are tensing, creating the feeling of inescapable danger and fear. I try my best to take deep breaths. I know what is happening, I don't remember the last time I felt like this. The invisible hands wrap around my throat and slowly seem to close it. My heart is pounding, the only fact telling me that I'm still alive. The rapid heartbeat reminds me of a train. A train speeding into the arms of death.

"Take deep breaths Atlas" I hear in the voice of Orion, I can't see him through the tears of panic in my eyes. I listen to his voice. "Breathe Atlas, In........Out" I follow his instructions, he guides me through the darkness I was so lost in. I open my eyes and stand up. "Atlas." Orion says, begging me not to be ashamed. I try not to see Andrew's horrified expression but I cannot ignore it. I take a deep breath and take his hands. "I'm sorry I am like this." Before he can answer I walk to my room. Ashamed of myself and the fact that I need to live in this body that atlas has made.

So I'll curse myself, I curse the world, I will curse everybody as I light a cigrette of my bed and wonder if I have a whiskey somewhere in the house. I feel a tear staining my pillow. I wish i forgive myself for all the things I hate about myself, but how can I forgive myself if it doesn't stop. I wish it would just stop, can't everything just stop. I look at my hands, I am still shivering. What is happening to me? I wish I had answers, but answers are like secrets, you want to know them and when you finally do you wish you never knew. I hate this world.......

And than I imagine andrews face, and orions laugh and the promise of surfing and my mouth curls a bit upward while the tears stream downward.

The archive of the forgottenWhere stories live. Discover now