7-19

So I turn to journaling, thinking that if I bottle everything up and say nothing, I will explode in anger then tears. I've turned into quite the little hermit, living alone in isolation, without feeling, thinking, I’ve turned numb inside to the pain that threatens my happiness. It slowly seeps out of me in some vestiges as I recall what might have been. I long for arms to wrap me in love and proclaim that everything will be okay, my lopsided world will be righted, even if I know it can never be. I am crying my outrage through silent tears that rock my world but not in a good way. No one understands how I feel. Time doesn’t always heal all wounds; I have been scarred for life with this experience, literally and figuratively. So I write to prevent the eventual meltdown, the breakdown of my carefully erected walls. Things which once interested me hold no value, I could care less about. I can never get this time back; it is gone for good… oh how I long for a time machine to change the past in so many ways. I would carefully rehearse each phrase, look intently at the reaction and truly listen to what was not being said aloud. I made a mistake that I would gladly erase just for another chance at true happiness. I never realized it would hurt this much to feel like a piece of me has been ripped out, never to be heard from again. My silent howl rips from my lips, no one can see how shaken I’ve become. My steps unsteady, hesitant, the pain rears its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. I throw the pillow over my head and sigh, another sleepless night ensues. Dawn breaks through the window to my world, must move on, but how can I when a piece of me has gone missing.