Dark Ramblings

She couldn’t lose this. Couldn’t separate herself from it. Her heart, her soul, the core of her being that others couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see. There wasn’t much else for her. Love was out of the question. She had simply stopped hoping. It was easier that way anyways. But if she made this a part of her, a part of who she was, then she could still dream. She could make a world where there was someone for people like her. Love was at her fingertips, and it didn’t have to hurt. She could take herself on the emotional rollercoaster ride, and for a while, she could believe that love was something she was capable of. But, when the screen went black, when she shut her laptop and put it away, the moment she put the pen down, reality swept in like a tsunami wave and crushed her.

For all her proclaimed literary genius, though she had her serious doubts, she was flawed. Everyone was flawed, but there was something fundamentally broken about her. That special part, somewhere inside that makes others capable of the tender and utterly raw feelings that allow them to bond, grow together, love together, was damaged. So she lived her life, knowing that the only one to grow old with her would be her imagination. The only eyes that would stare lovingly back at her would be the ones in her mind. For each story a different name, a different life, a different laugh, a different love. Her stories would one day cease to be her escape and would simply become her world.

Laughing to herself, she considered the thought. Insanity is where she was headed, some would say. She could deal with that. Her mind was a fantastic place, and she would never be alone. Gone would be the derisive glances, the judgmental glares, the knowing looks, all of it. She could be stuck in a place where her world was alright. She hoped.

But there would always be that darker side of her psyche. The part that would not let her forget that she was not okay. The part that told her the uselessness of her existence. The part that whispered doubt and darker things. Sure, she knew she was an emotional teen who knew far less about the world than she thought, but it was worse to be reminded of it over and over again. To have it shoved in her face at every turn. The thought that she was too young, too dumb, to hard headed, too ignorant to know, do, be anything. The darker side of her that drew her gaze to the smooth, reflective glass of her mirror and curl her lip in disgust. She could be pulled into it so easily. And she might never come out of the chasm of shadows that could consume her heart, mind and soul so quickly. She would never actually harm herself, but isn’t it worse to trapped in a place where those thoughts simply buzz around in your head. Plaguing you. Eating at you. Stinging you everywhere. Clutching her head, she whispered a prayer. Hoping for some sort of light to bring her out of it. So many things were going on in her head. She could feel them all, like a steady pressure, building and building. But there was no one to tell. No way to get it out. No way to get away from it but to write.

That’s why she couldn’t lose this. Couldn’t stop. She rubbed her cramping hands, sighed, and brushed a few strands back into the loose ponytail hanging at her neck. She shouldn’t continue on like this. What kind of life is made from late nights in front of a too bright screen that only managed to light up her face and a small space around her in the darkness of her unlit room. A television somewhere in the house created a steady murmur to offset the hum of the computer and the occasional moanings of her house. She chuckled at that. Yes, it was just a house, never a home. Home is where the heart is, but a heart is a luxury, and a burden, she had given up long ago. The few friends she did have would lecture her about how life, love and everything would be available to her if she would only leave her shell, but she knew better. Observation and creation were her art, her passion. Too many relationships had she witnessed from beginning to end. Too many friendships, too many lives, too many loves. She knew what made people tick in time, and each example only made her more sure that she was not made of such stuff. No, it was better, safer, if she stayed where she was. She wanted to be more than the incessantly lovestruck piles of hormones that most her age seemed to be, but the thought of being loved continued to bore into everything she did. Every now and then, she’d find herself staring off into space, dreaming about a thing so beyond her she couldn’t even put herself in it for her stories. No, it would forever be someone else in love, but it had to be enough.

“Stop this!” She ran her hand through her hair for what had to be the eighth time and scowled when the hair band slipped from the small collection of hair that hadn’t come out of it already. It didn’t matter. Though her mind was still active, she could feel her body beginning to slow down. So she saved her most recent escapade, closed the screen, and curled up on the couch under her well used blanket. She lost herself in the wonderland of her mind and let it pull her into the unconsciousness her body seemed to crave, eagerly awaiting the bright world on the other side.