Wednesday, February 3, 2010

This is why writing matters.

4 years ago I read this and 4 years ago it meant something and 4 years later, it still does:

I am alone.
Alone here and alone in the world.
Alone in my heart and alone in my mind.
Alone everywhere,
all the time,
for as long as I can remember.
Alone with my Family, alone with my friends, alone in a Room full of People.
Alone when I wake, alone through each awful day, alone when I finally meet the blackness.
I am alone in my horror.
Alone in my horror.

I don't want to be alone.
I have never wanted to be alone.
I fucking hate it.
I hate that I have no one to talk to,
I hate that I have no one to call,
I hate that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me everything is going to be all right.
I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and my dreams with,
I hate that I no longer have any hopes or dreams,
I hate that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again.
I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness.
I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn how to stop screaming.
I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness lives in a pipe or a bottle.
I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon.
I hate that I will die alone.

I will die alone in my horror.
  
More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to be close to someone.
More than anything, all I have ever wanted it to feel as if I wasn't alone.
I have tried many times, tried to kill my loneliness with a girl or a woman, and it was never right.
We would be together and be close to each other, but no matter how close we were, I still felt alone.
 They felt that loneliness and it made them want to get closer.
When they tried, I either ran or did something to destroy what we felt for each other.
I can run fast when i want to run fast, and I've always been good at destroying things.

 Originally blogged here.

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