Dear Diary,
Identity is such a fragile thing.
For years, I'd built my personality
to change with the winds of hostility.
Who am I beyond the battlefield?
The night my identity was finally challenged,
I felt the severity of my damage.
Sleep would not come to me.
I looked in the mirror and saw nobody.
Was what she said really true?
I didn't know what to do.
my dreams were disturbing.
When I awoke,
the sunshine was depressing.
water was no longer refreshing.
and I was no closer to having an identity
beyond the pain I'd been surpressing.
And yet how interesting,
that I chose to tear up my identity
again the next night.
I went to where it all started.
I felt dumb and retarded.
I felt guilty for making him say it.
but it felt unreal.
So I broke the silence.
I laughed.
I cried.
I couldn't explain what I was thinking inside.
Yet that night, was different.
There no longer was dissonance.
No more did the weight I'd been carrying feel magnificent.
I did not feel.
I did not think.
I just went to sleep.
There was no turmoil inside,
No anxious instinct to hide.
Only silence.
Deafening silence.
and yet still, silence.
This time, when I arose,
the sun shone, and it did not seem depressing.
It did not seem happy.
It just shone.
The birds sang.
The world kept spinning round.
It's as if my demons had drowned.
And I was only slightly confused.
How should I feel?
Should I feel mad?
Should I feel bad?
Should I pretend that I was healed anyway?
Or should I stay away?
I couldn't not think about it,
but talking about it felt wrong.
I felt like a broken record,
stuck repeating the same song.
I wasn't sure how to move on.
And yet, these questions didn't seem too important.
Something told me to just live.
So thats what I'll do.
I'll just live again.
