The Senses

Negative thoughts troll my existence. I am mute with shock.

What did I see to make this become worse? There is no one to help me. I am beyond help.

I miss the dynamic duo. I miss colors and bold sounds. Everything feels the same. Nothing is better and almost nothing is worse. Taste is just an addiction. I smell things but don’t react. Who are you to think that there are nice things when I don’t feel like you can ever see what I see.

I complain and complain and I don’t know what to expect. Friends all around. Their happiness comes first for some reason. Their feelings and gestures are memorized in my mind. Their actions seem to hurt me and make me feel unimportant. I know that there is nothing to hide from them, yet there are some that don’t feel with me. What makes you a good friend? Is it the fact that you know everything about me or the fact that you ask me the right personal questions. Further my emotional mind, my actions or my intellect? Who can help do all three? I go crazy with confusion and doubt. My mind is a wasteland of “What ifs? and Why does no one cares?” I know it never helps to cry over spilled milk, but after a while you crave cereal, don’t you?

I sing a song over and over again. I look down and weep from that missed tune. You are there but will never be mine. I will never get to hug you or smell your hair and skin. I will never see that smile and perfect body. I will never hear your soft voice or laughs. I will never know what the taste of your mouth is like.

The look I sport is depressing and unattractive. It mirrors my feelings. People don’t know that about me. I love to feel pretty and put-together. I love to put makeup on and spend time coloring my eyes. I love making jokes without planting a frown moments later. I love hearing the music I love in the car. I love drinking an ice cold coffee beverage to alcohol. I love dancing like nobody is watching. I love celebrating after I overcame something.

But lately, all the colors come together. All the smells mix with clouds. All the voices are monotone. All the fabrics feel like wool. All food tastes like a sugary mess. I do what I am told more often. I eat more crap than I used to. I feel more itchy and hear more cursing. Everything smells like alcohol and body odor.

Am I able to leave you? Do you care if that happens?

I feel like I do your dirty work. I am the shack and you are the mansion. You reach out to me when you need an ear. You do everything for you. I am full of hate for you. I am hearing your words but I don’t listen to them. You know that I hate it. You know that I don’t care about those emo ways of yours, yet, you persist. You persist making my ears bleed with you talk about your “cause.” Your “beliefs.” I don’t care.

Sometimes I feel like not caring makes me stupider.

I feel that the things I care about shrink as each year passes. All my senses are affected for this strange reason. My walls tear down and a blank mind replaces it. I don’t know how to handle it.


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