The noise annoys me to no end. It just won't stop. It wells up inside me and I don't know how to let this feeling release itself.
I realise, suddenly, that these feelings are really something else....something dark, and sinister, even.....something I cannot control.
I cannot control myself... and I am just about ready to explode. I close my eyes, waiting for the images to come, images of other places, of other times. Of the music videos I so love, of the people I admire....of the poetry of Shelley, Rosetti and Edgar Allen Poe.
Images binded, weaving to form a rich, pulsating fabric- a life, my life.......
I open my eyes suddenly. The dripping is gone. The digital clock at my bedside table reads 2:23 am. I rub my eyes to clear the tiredness, and stumble half asleep from my bed, tripping on the discarded clothes as I do so.
I grumble disdainfully at the scattered remnants of another day.... fishnets tangled with mesh shirts, velvet coats crushed under steel toed boots- and wince in pain as I realise I have landed on a black leather collar, with large protruding, metal spikes.
I move to turn on my light, then decide against it, switching o n the small lamp at my paper-strewn desk instead, so as to not disturb the boy asleep in the other bed.
The light, nonetheless, disturbs him slightly, and I smile to myself as he pulls the covers higher above his head. I marvel at how much like a child he looks... a small frown playing on his mouth, his forehead creasing slightly...
I think of how many times I have wished he was mine... truly mine... not just as close to me as he thinks he could get...but ALL mine, and I ALL his. I wish in the deepest recesses of my soul that my sentiments were a mutual feeling between us, not just a hopeful wish doomed to be begged for every day, doomed to replay itself in my subconcious dreaming, never quite reaching that height of total and realistic completion, every night.
I shake these thoughts from my head.. knowing that dwelling on this impossible dream just drives me deeper into my living lie...an existance that I never really wished for, and the complicated mess that is my brain...thus driving me to act and function AS I WANT TO, and not as I should. I hate the fact that doing what I want is no longer an option, that to be myself is to merely fall asleep, dream and never wake up.
I made the wrong choices at the wrong time, and unless I accept it and let this non-life take me over, subdue me, and detach me from existance, People I care for will be deeply hurt, and everything I know will be gone, and everyone will hate me, and no one will want me. I will bw another figment of a fucked- up life- another example, so that people can live their lives and raise their kids and say "Well at least we didn't turn out like her.."
And then... what will I be then?? Nothing... no one.... a memory everyone is trying to forget. And I will be alone.. and not even my dreams will save me then.
I hate myself for being such a coward. I hate myself for being so selfish, so impure.
And I switch off my lamp again, so that the purity before me, so that this innocent thing won't see me, cannot see me cry.
And it's all ok because no one really knew me in the end. And it's all ok because I lie. Never be a coward.. and be sure of everything before you begin it. Self-Torture hurts more than anything anyone could ever inflict on you.
And So I detach myself, put on my visual facade- and continue to exist, never knowing a true ultimatum........
- Pandora...
December, 1999
