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Previous - this entry written on February 02, 2006 at 3:39 pm - Next A hundred years from now, no one will remember my name. A thousand years, and perhaps the land on which I walk will be swept up by the rising sea. Gods grant there be an eternity and the world forms again, myself here, again, and still... ...still... ...there was a story, once. With that, I believe, as the title. Every section in the story contained that word. Every line led up to the final few syllables, the ending. "I still can't forget you." Other things. Long nights. Mornings when I saw the sun rise and was still awake to see it set and rise again. Hours spent talking. Hours spent saying nothing. Memories. I know, and anyone else reading this should know, that I'm not about to go do something stupid. I got that over with. Err... ok, so I'm not going to go do the stupid thing the next bit of this journal entry is going to imply. I just need to get it out, k? Thanks. I remember - and not just remember, because sitting here, it's happening again - what it feels like to type when I can't see the screen, tears blurring my vision, my body tight, curled in on itself, every part of me feeling as if someone just ran a razorblade across my soul. I remember why I did a very stupid thing. I remember wishing. I remember an entry read so very long ago. A girl, a rock, an old old friend from childhood. That moment of happiness. Is this really it? For a few minutes today, once again, I was happy. I forgot how much it hurts to be happy. Forgot how deep the hurt goes the moment it fades away and all you're left with is the certainty that a minute ago, an hour, a day, a year... you had it all. And now you know you'll never have it again. You'll come close. You'll try, over and over, sometimes feeling almost satisfied, but always, somehow, incomplete. Something missing. I thought, once, that it would never end. Thought that I would fight to keep it. Maybe I should have. You know, that's what hurts the most... the thought that maybe if I had... maybe... it wouldn't hurt now. It shouldn't hurt now. Nothing should hurt now. I should be so far beyond this that none of the aching and the longing and the feeling every time as if I'm finding it out for the first time, all over again, none of it should even touch me. Weakness... is something someone else had to deal with. Caring is left for better souls than mine. There'll be someone else eventually, someone who sees the butterfly transformed, who sees what I saw all along. Gods... it stings so much to know that. *smiles slightly* There's pride too; maybe the transformation would have happened without me, but I'd like to think I had at least some hand in it, somewhere. The alternatives are... *shakes her head* ...not worth thinking about, not when I'm already this far down. Oh, I know quite well why I can't seem to cheer up, why everything is hurting today, why what should have made me at least somewhat happy has left me in tears, why I feel as if my heart is breaking. You wanna know why? Little. White. Pills. Vicodin. Withdrawals. And I know the combination of opiate withdrawal and period hormones and the last bits of pneumonia and cold medication and not having talked, really talked, to any of Mine in so long, all of it just unites against me, it's like the universe is one giant fucking transformer taking the shape of a "Make Jax Feel Miserable" machine. I know that if I have a sip of the homemade laudanum I have (long story, basically I'm using this to see if it makes the tapering-off easier than doing it with pills, so far the answer is a resounding NO, sadly), take another round of cold medication, some advil, go curl up and have a good cry, I'll feel better. I know that so much of my frustration and pain is hormone or chemical imbalances, not actual problems. I know that in a week, I'll almost have forgotten today entirely. ...and I know that a thousand eternities from now, if any part of my consciousness lives on, I'll still miss him. I hate myself for that, today, now. I don't think I could ever hate him. And I think that an hour from now, if I'm lucky, I'll be unconscious, sleeping, and will wake up hopefully in a better mood than I'm in now. The day had been so good. *shrug* I should know better than to expect the world to behave. Hosted by Diaryland - All Rights Reserved - Image, Layout, and Content copyright Jax Raven - - Do Not Feed The Moose - |
