Reaction time

March 16th, 2015 (Delilah)

Dear diary,

The empty sensation of piercing, stinging needles brushes my skin like the chilled, aged fingers of death himself, bristling my nerves. How long must I endure this? Must I wait for eternity's kiss to replenish my lifeline? Or shall I just go ahead, travel the world in a swift motion of unearthed curiosities and lies? I cannot remain here, so unrefined and free to do as I please. That, in itself, is restricting. At least under another's rule, the consequences would not be my own. Here, in this space confined by nothing, I float; chained to the sky by the floor below. As deep as the ocean trenches, blue and lost in the surrounding, ever present darkness, I am to die. So be it. I accept what I deserve. Eagerly. Bitter though this goodbye may be, I am ready.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Gazing around with many a contemplation, I've become aware of myself being nowhere to be found once again. I stain the message with my tears, simple dew drops in the morning mist, as fog rolls in from the horizon. I understand what I am to do next will alter us. We will advance. Time will go on without us. Who is to survive? The bare none.

'Know that I'll die inside when you walk away. I've seen this a million times before. You lose interest; you move on. You no longer crave my presence or my company. You wish back only my sweet memory; a glassy pearl in a harbor of chains, denial, and secrets kept safe hidden under lock and key. You stop talking to me. No eye contact permitted. My compliments and sickly-saccharine melodies composed of "I love you" are no longer accepted; my attention is undesired here.

I am in a place of uncertainty and trepidation; I finally convinced myself that this series of events would never come to be again. But I ruin things. Love. Kindness. Friendship and compassion. I destroy them; I cripple them like fire would a leaf before it burns to ash and cinder, mere glowing embers of its former self. You are my raging fire; I am but another despondent leaf in your midst. I know this, I've been here before. I've had scars of dejection and denunciation permanently etched into my subconscious, ones that now bubble to the surface like deep-rooted, excruciating flesh-wounds.

Sun, moon, stars, all alike, mean nothing to me any longer. Every thought I have is of you. Sending you my regards and deepest apologies for making you believe that I was ever anything more than a dark, passing phase for anyone. For taking and wasting precious time from you that could be better spent elsewhere. I... I'm so sorry. It was senseless, narcissistic, and abhorrent not to warn you more than I have in the past. But... well, I guess... this is inane, but I guess I thought maybe I had finally found a home. A place to put my heart for safe-keeping. But I was wrong. Trust no one. Don't love; it will only hurt that much more when they leave. You taught me that. Thank you; I will keep it in mind for my future 'friends', not that there will be many, if any at all, but though I loathe being alone, I'm used to it. I'll manage, somehow.

I am lost. You can't take this anymore. We're both broken porcelain and rags. No glue; no fixing the irreparable shattered mess I've created by letting my fantasies of having people who really care for me carry me away downstream. So while my head remained in the clouds, I never came down to earth to think things through logically and realize that I will never have someone care about me, about whether I live or die, about whether it was worth it to keep me around in the first place.

This is not a love letter. This is a hate letter. A self-loathing letter, to be more precise and direct about the matter. I don't blame you for wanting to leave me behind. If I could, I would too. But I can't escape myself, trust me, I've tried. But no matter what I attempt, I am always stuck trying to get away, but tripping over myself and falling again. Over and over, running in circles until I can't breathe. And I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of putting in more effort than I receive. Of feeling hurt, upset, angry, rejected. I'm sick of holding on for nothing but an alternate reality of lies that I've been told. I'm done with getting my hopes up only to be disappointed once again. So it's okay if you hate me. I hate me, too. I'm always too busy saving everyone else when I can't even save myself.

I regret nothing. I'm glad I could steal away these moments with you, however brief. My smile was not always an ugly gray when I was with you. My tears were no longer just a hideous black and white truth. You were bright. You were life. You still are for me. But that doesn't matter, not anymore. You've moved on, and just like that, if you believe our friendship is meaningless now, then so shall I try to convince myself so. If I'm just being paranoid, then I feel horrible and I'm sorry once again for wasting your time. But if it's over, please just tell me. Rip it off like a bandage. In the long run, that would hurt less. Not that I care what happens to me, I just believe that you are the kind of person who doesn't want that type of guilt on your chest. I love you, and no matter what you decide, I fully support your decision.'

A shell of a being lies on my pillow and cries out at night where I used to. I no longer have the energy to waste my breath in self-pity. I only want time, one of the many things that I cannot have. Where I reside, the world may not know. And now they may never have a chance. It's over. All of it.

"Just go away. I don't want you anymore."

"You cut? Attention whore, you will never be loved. Try cutting deeper next time, freak."

"You deserve it. You're nothing. Why are you still alive? Everything about you is just one big mistake."

Friends? Don't be cruel. Or do. Either way, I have none.

I'm sorry I'm so useless. I'm sorry that my knife draws more often than my pen. I'm sorry I fall apart so easily.

I should be stronger. I should try to pretend I'm fine. But being lost was so much easier. Once I finally found what I was looking for, people to call my own, I realized that I never wanted this. This sense of isolation. This scarring, breaking understanding of why no one wants to be alone, before it was all ripped away again and I found myself just that.

My light is gone. On the outside, I am a candle, burning bright. But deeper down, I am but an empty prayer; a cursed dream of what could be if only I were better.

It's all become static. A hollow grey echo of misty tears and bloodshed. I cannot do it anymore. I've always been worthless. I remember when things were different. The little girl behind the mask was revealed. And they hated her. They tortured her.

I gave them everything, and still they took, until nothing remained but ashes, scattered in the wind by memories. Until only pain remained. And even then they took that from me.

So you should know as I hold this gun to my head-- when I say I wish that I had died by now-- I'm lying. I just want to be alive for once. I'm sorry that I've failed you. That you've been forced to replace me. That I'm not happy or strong when things fall apart, shrivel, crumble and die in my hands.

This pain inside just won't go away. There's nothing left for me.

*Backtracking time! Oh boy.
♡ Love, Shark -- snuggle up and read a good book for me, okay?*