Is this really going to be my life from now on...?

I've felt this way since before the last time I posted here. I've been trying to deal with it; over and over again, relentlessly being attacked by it. It's hard. It's so hard. I cry, I weep, I try to smile, and through my smile, it creeps up again. No matter what I do, no matter how excited I get or happy I might feel, it keeps coming back as though it were a part of me.

And maybe it is. Maybe this feeling has always been a part of me? Maybe that was the reason for my insanity from so long ago, maybe that's why it still has appeal for me, even now. Maybe that's why I keep coming back here, even when I feel like I should have been done with it ages ago. Maybe that's why all my posts seem to have the same feeling behind them, maybe I am just meant to forever feel this way.... Maybe this feeling, this loneliness, this depression, this sadness - whatever you want to call it - is just a part of what makes me, me.

That doesn't mean it feels good though. I feel like shit, all the time. It's been getting increasingly harder to do anything. Homework, cleaning, eating... anything. Everything hurts. Waking up, being with people, working, laughing, crying, having a good time. No matter what I do, I always get home and the first thing I want to do is cry my eyes out because I feel so god-dammed lonely that my heart feels like its being crushed from within my chest. I feel like shit. I want to go to sleep and never wake up again, but you know what? I've felt that way since as long as I could remember....

Maybe there is something wrong with me? Maybe I have depression? Maybe I'm chronically lonely? Maybe this is a mental issue, maybe I feel like shit because of this mental issue? But what does that mean? Do I have to go to a psychologist just so I can be told I'm damaged? Well, guess what, I already knew that. Are they going to give me drugs? I don't want them. I don't care if these drugs are supposed to make me feel better. I don't want drugs to make me feel better, I don't want to run from my problems. I want to face them, get better for good, not for as long as I take this pill or that medicine. I want to be better, not feel better for this one second.

For as long as I can remember, I've always thought that I felt this way because I really was alone. I still think that way. The only time I've ever felt better was when I was with Ashlie. She was my remedy. My healer. My once-in-a-lifetime love. She still is. I love her, I do. That won't ever change. However, I feel like I've been feeling worse and worse since she left. Why? Because now that I've know what it feels like to have someone, now that that person is gone, I can only miss her and feel even more lonely than I've ever been before. School keeps me busy, as does work, but the moment I stop to think, my entire mood withers to an emptiness that seems to have no bottom. It's getting in the way of my studies. I'm having an increasingly harder time trying to get through everything.

So I am here, trying my best to put into word what ails me. It's not working. I can't describe well enough how this emptiness eats away at me, my energy draining as though it were a parasite. I can't tell you with words how much I want physical contact with just about anyone, just so I don't have to feel alone for those small moments in time, but that I won't touch anyone because I don't want to hurt even more later on. I can't paint a picture with these words of how much darkness clouds my vision no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Words don't do this emotion justice. It hurts. That's all I can say. It just hurts; it's endless, emotionless, and brutal. Loneliness hurts... it just hurts, nothing else. Just hurts.

As the loneliness sets it...

It's been a while now since my last post. It's been a while since I've had to force myself to write something here and face the pain I've been feeling. There's very few people who actually hear my voice when I speak, and even fewer who respond. Back in a time of disparity and confusion, of conflict and loss of heart, of pain and desperation, there was truly only one person who heard my voice loud and clear, and responded with as much heart as I had offered out.

She's the one that stands behind me when the world turns scary and cold. She's the force that holds my shoulders high in the face of my fears. She's the one that grabs my hand and tells me to keep trying. She's the one that shows me how to get through the loneliness and the pain that follows close behind it. She was there when nothing else made sense and everyone was killing me. She was there when I was insane and so alone that death was my best friend. She was there when I had gotten the courage to love my dad again. She was the binding force in a heart ready to break into a million pieces. She is the one who heard me, the one that saw me, the one that talked to me, and the one who never gave up on me. She's my grandmother and I'll owe her more than I could ever give back.

I've felt empty since as long as I could remember. An emptiness I don't think even those closest to me truly understand. There's a void in me that I myself may have created in a time of desperate desire for a love I was constantly refused. My friends would always leave me, my family wouldn't try to understand or listen to me, and my mother only fueled the insanity creeping slowly out from inside me. It had started as a simple desire to be loved, progressing into a desire for my "true" family, and finally becoming a delusion I brought to life through sheer will and a loneliness that ate at my very soul. Now that the delusion has ended, every time I feel weak at heart, every time I feel lonely, that desire for love does not cease, and in fact it has gotten stronger with each passing year.

With her death, with the realization that love is out of my reach yet again, I've cast that side of my heart into a dark corner and widened a wound that was already bottomless. My heart is empty, my soul is aching, my mind is weeping, and I'm more lonely than I have ever been. I feel empty. I feel hollow and withered. Even when I try to move on with my life, my mother yet again tries to throw me back into insanity. She is my shackle that tightens the closer I get to her. I need the release I get from going to school or work or just anywhere but here. Right now I don't want to think about her. My mind feels numb, my eyes hurt and I'm tired. I want to sleep and never wake up, I want to forget the pain. But I can't. I feel empty, but I can't give in to it. Even if I waned to, I feel like there's something stopping me now. Sometimes I feel like it's my grandmother. Others I feel like it's a prospect of happiness and love in the future that beckons me from the hollow ache inside me.

I don't want to think anymore. I want sleep and the minutes of sanity that comes from it. So sleep I shall, and sanity I shall chase. My battle will always be with loneliness. I know that now. So I battle it, so I sleep through it, so I come out and breath in another day. My battle will end one day. All I can do is wait and hope that isn't a lie.

An endless and horribly bottomless love...

Hello again, and from an empty heart, here I go again. I've been feeling extremely lonely recently. I don't think there's one simple reason why, I think it is instead a few different reasons. My best friend is far away, I desire affection that I can't have, I'm afraid to be alone for so long, I hate feeling empty like I do now, I want physical contact but don't want to hurt myself because of that desire. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to change these feelings.

I miss Ashlie, I miss her to the point that I've turned pictures of her over so I don't have to cry every time I see her face. I miss her, I want to be with her, I want her near me so that she can console me. I miss my best and only true friend. I don't want any other friends. No one could replace her, not a single being in the world. Not even Tristan, but then again, she couldn't replace Tristan either. They are two separate entities, two separate loves in my life. One essential to living, the other essential to breathing. Similar, but different none the less.

I dream of him, my Tristan, my lover that exists in time and space, but is unattainable at this point in my life. I love him, I've never met him, but I love him as though my life depended upon it, and sometime I think it does. I feel like the moment I stop loving him, the moment I stop keeping an eye out for him, is the same moment I stop breathing. I had a dream not too many days ago. He was here on campus, he found me, he knew me just as I know him. He tested me, trying to make sure I was really the one he saw in his dreams, and when he found out I was, he said this: "Now that I have you in my grasp, now that I know you exist and where you are, I am never letting you go again. You are mine for the rest of our lives."

I wish I could be with him, I wish he was here. I miss him. I want to be with him. I miss him.

I feel so empty because of these desires, these feelings of longing that have nowhere to go. It's empty because there is no end to this cycle of desire and want and need. I want them here, I need their presence, I desire their voices in my ear, but no matter how much I feel this way, I can't do anything to make my desires come true. All I can do is sit back and wait for time to pass, for things to change, for my life to intertwine with theirs once more and for the first time. I miss them. I love them. I want to be near them. I miss them. I feel empty without them. I cry when I think about them. I miss them with every part of my being and every inch
of my heart aches for them.

The Archive...

It's been over 5 years since I started this blog, and there is not a day that goes by that I do not owe it my life. Coming out of insanity was like walking into a haze, a blur of reality that made no sense and even less of a desire to witness it. I was lost in that fog, watching people progress through their lives like nothing had happened, like my world was not, just moments before, about to be broken. If I had not created this outlet, this place to write my pain into, I don't know what would have happened and I truly am glad I never had to find out.

This place has held my pain, my torment, my sadness, my anguish, my love, and my happiness all in one small little world. It has helped me through some of my most horrible times and through the years, I can only hope that it has done the same for others. If I can be the voice that tells people they are not alone in their insanity, in their pain, in their "differences" from others, then I am all the more glad to have wrote here instead of in a journal I would have honestly thrown eventually for fear of others reading it. This place is funny in that way. It's on the internet, a place where no one truly knows who is reading your posts, but for me, it is hidden in that vast web of data where anything and everything is possible. This place is a secret I hide from those that have hurt me, that I don't trust, and those that I what to hide from the most. However, it is also an open book, left out to be read, by just about anyone who comes across it. In a way, that too makes me happy.

If anyone who reads my blog has been helped by it, please continue to read as my life progresses. After all, no matter what stage of life you are in, there will always be a need for a secret cove to hide your dark secrets in. It just so happens that my cove is available to anyone who goes looking for it. I hope all the best to anyone brave enough to live through life, and I extend unconditional gratitude to those who have read and known the pain within the words I write. We've all been through hell and back, but its those of us able to talk others through that journey that find true peace within ourselves.

Thank you for everything, and I look forward to the vast future before us.

The inevitable pain...

 Small moments filled with peace, an unbearable sorrow unfounded, unshaped, unwilling and absence of presence. Small voices in the distance, a tranquility that stands between sleep and wakeful bliss. Lost in the space between an animal I know will die one day, the regrets I will have for not touching for fear of a lack of breath, the pain and emptiness left behind every time I look at pictures, the painful knowledge of her eventual, yet not far enough off, death. I ache at the thought, losing my mind in her beauty, her sweet understanding and love, despite my inability to overcome simple allergies. I regret, I mourn before the passing, I take every moment of courage into account and cherish the few pictures I am actually able to take, fear residing behind the camera knowing that when I look at them after the loss of her, I will weep in torment and guilt.

This peace, this kind of irrational determination to undermine my own peace, this moment where peace and a future of pain known all to well to be coming, this tormenting relentlessness that ceases every thought in my being but the thought of my love for her. The undying love in front of my eyes blending with the corpse that will steel my heart and break my soul. Every insanity I have subjected her to, every ignorant but well intentioned childhood act that taught me to truly cherish and love her, and every moment I look into her eyes and realize how beautiful this creature could be, how majestic that moment that she blinks slowly, fading from rest to sleep and back again. The lasting moments I share in my dreams, nestled and smothered by the nightmare of her blood on my hands.

I feel the guilt pouring out every time I see her, I know she is going to leave and not of her own will either. She is destined for death, just as all eventually are, but seeing and knowing what will be are two different things. I fear it, I forsake her inwardly for leaving before she has turned away, I hate and loathe but tread heavily on the guilt of it all in that moment that my skin touches her soft fur. I long for her immortality, hoping to some higher being that may or may not exist to extend her into vampirism if necessary if only to see her live long and healthy.

Curled up beside me now, she sleeps and breaths as if time had stopped, as if all that mattered was the itch under her skin every now and again, or the moment of my fingers over keys that wakes her to blinking and fading off to sleep once more. One day, the day she no longer wakes, that is my fear, my stem of guilt, my outlasting pain that hovers endlessly. Will I come home and she will be gone? Will I find her one day on the road after a driver decided their phone was more important that the life of a loved one? What would I do if she were to be in a hospital, lying there frail and old, at the end of her life, silently whispering for my hand to lift from her cold, forlorn body? How the tears shed even from the thought, how my mind aches and body reals at the eventual time's come. I wish time could stop. I wish her moments could forever be frozen. I do not want to take pictures, I do not want to lose the only one who loved me despite the lack of love I was deprived of all those years ago.

How many years has it been? How old is she? Should I find out just to know how much longer she had to live? If I were to know, how should I not see her as a walking corpse only days, years from that fated moment. I want to remain ignorant, I want to make time stop with my ignorance, hoping her slowly aging body will cease only at the end of my own. How I wish she could last forever, but I also ponder on the thoughts of when she will go, of how much time I have left to take as many photos as I can, to love her and make up for the days I did not smother my face with her fur. The days I did not hug her and hold her tightly when I missed her or felt scared or lonely. The times I did not pet her endlessly because my hand had a cut and was becoming swollen. How I would wish I could just love her as much as possible regardless of any thing my body might do to me in retaliation. How I would wish I could have loved her more, showed her more of how I would miss her, had been around more.

May thought forbid if I were to be absent in her passing. I do not know if I would survive that. I love her too much. I miss her too much. I want her to live forever too much. So much so that I take advantage of my hope and dismiss the future as if a common passing. She is irreplaceable. She is impossibly my other self. She is the path that drove me to sanity. She is everything to me and I do not know how I would feel if she had gone. At this point, tears are not possible to stop. I have given up trying. I will cry for her when she dies. I will weep when I think about it. I will die inside every time I come home and cannot find her. I will miss her and when the time comes, I would die with her if it meant I could be with her forever. If not, I will take her ashes with me to my grave and cherish her endlessly loved life even in death. I will never forget her, never hate her, never forgive myself for being unable to touch her without washing my hands afterwards. I will love her. I will love her. I will forever and for always, I will love her.

Kitty, you will be loved for the rest of eternity, dead or not, I will see you every day for the rest of time. I will love you. No matter life or death. I will love you.