Day Three: Part 1
Day three. I am struggling to open my mouth. There is a darkness so vile looming over what seems like the whole building, making it inescapable. Both this vessel I call my body and the mind that inhabits it feel trapped in a vacuum. Day three, the silence is indescribable. Allowing a non-consensual laziness to consume me I just about manage to raise my body out of bed and drag my feet to the opposite side of the room. The kitchen stays dark and the light shining through the curtains, which brings me so much grief, stings on my naked skin. Nudity suits me well this morning. It’s the best way to describe this feeling. Almost like I have been stripped of every ability to feel a feeling greater than this despicable, weighted monster that hangs over my heart. That same weight I struggled to pick up because my body could not find the strength. To prove its strength and resolve. To prove its resilience. Eating seems futile. What is the point of nourishment when you know movement for the day will be limited? What is the point of eating only to slip back into a pool of sorrow? Much like a dreamer I admire, I am slowly drowning in my stream but there is no bottle, no doorknob, to wash me away to safety.
It is safe to argue that safety would mean the contrary, and that Alice staying away from the door to Wonderland protects her from the madness; but not me. The more I stay in reality the more it seems so pointless. So, draining. My imagination is what carries my limp chest throughout most of the day. Though my heart is shattered, there is no reason as to why my mind need remain so. It’s better to stay away from the harsh mess. The painful reality of a love to lost and another so unrequited that pierces right through my skin.
Day three. It’s ten in the morning now and I have managed to somehow piece myself together. I sit cross legged on my lonely bed and watch the rain rattle the peaceful silence of the trees and lightly tap on the glass shielding my room. Protecting me from… jumping. Though I feel no need to. I never had, but my mind has never skipped the thought. “Enough of that anyway. That thought is silly.” I lecture myself, but my lips still cease to part.
The clouds are so indecisive. One day they are bright and white, and the next they are grey; much like my mind has been over the past few months of happiness, sorrow, bewilderment, breakage, repair. The trees are silenced. “Speak. Say something. Say something come on. Why can’t you move your mouth?” My dialogue continues.
“It’s been three days. You can’t stop thinking about them. Don’t embarrass yourself, it’s not worth the loss.”
My brushes have been abandoned and I hope they can accept my apology; for the days I left them drying, out of sight and out of mind because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to carry out my thoughts. Not being able to translate them into colour.