Unspoken Contempt

Dying Forever

Russel Black

Diary Entry no. 147

People would call my name. They would recognize someone they think they know. But looking back at myself from the mirror is a stranger. I remember once experiencing anticipation and joy, but it feels like those emotions occurred in a far off, never to be revisited galaxy. I recall happy memories like scenes from a movie once viewed, not as something I once experienced.  

The waves of pincer like pain keep pummeling my brain as my body is dragged down, down, down, down onto the inky, cold depths of the ocean floor, choking me. The question "Stay down, stay fetal, or fight my way to the top?" floods my head. It bashes, bashes, bashes, bashes my thoughts against one another, building rage and anguish within every branch of what's left of me. 

Cold. So cold.

Most people wish for immortality. Being able to live forever. Being able to experience everything that can ever be experienced. But they are wrong. Immortality isn't living forever, it's dying forever. The regret. The suffering. The pain, pain, pain, pain, pain. 

The suffering.

I watch as everyone around me grows old. The never ending abyss of loneliness and contempt pulling me apart piece by piece. My mind grows old, yet my body stays young. 

The regret.

People think depression is sadness. People think depression is crying. People think depression is dressing in black. But people are wrong. Depression is the constant feeling of being numb. Being numb to emotions, being numb to life. I wake up every morning just to go to bed again.

Isolation.

The worst part of holding onto memories isn't the pain. It is the loneliness of it all. The myth that you were once happy. I was happy once. A very, very long time ago. There are always memories that latch onto you, and those memories are the ones that change you. I let the memories get to me. Hold me down. I made that mistake.

Dread, dread, dread, dread.

Thousands of years of suffering can really tear a soul apart. Solitude has made a home in my chest, a parasite draining me. Following with people who have the audacity to tell me "Move on" and "Everything will be OK."

The never ending rage.

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