The Excuse

By Amadan

Tonight I hurt again. It's a common pang caused by an uncommon event that has been inflicted upon me, that I can never shake from my being, no matter how I try. In the end this may only be yet another sad attempt destined to end in tears and a façade of relief. Relief that fades in a brief time because I still feel empty and hollow.

It's a sad combination of Third Eye Blind's "Jumper" and the soulfully toxic laws of the universe. Some things are just not apparently allowed to occur, and this is one of them. The road is spinning out before me, and there is nothing evil in it, except the pain. It is my road after all and I helped to put my poor feet upon it.

I say "poor" as I am, as of yet, young and an entire life lies out before me and it may be great, or it may be a hideous replay of many who came before me. As to the answer to the obvious question that inspires: I simply do not know.

I've been over this a thousand times and in a thousand places, and I've been distracted from it by life and people. But I always come back to its haunting memory, wondering why I let it happen the way that it did. Why I did not try to make more out of it; to make it solid and touchable. Maybe I was afraid of the response I would get after admitting such a thing had happened to me. Maybe it would make me appear weak and undesirable. Maybe it was just easier to ignore it all and pretend that it had never happened. And maybe I'm not sitting here now, close to tears again, in my isolated little life, but sitting on the edge of some epic cliff with my feet dangling over the edge in the glorious summer twilight. Then one day the wind will caress my face and lift my hair from my neck and breathe the life back into me; and I'll forget it ever happened.

Or maybe I'll jump off it and finish the thing that started it all.

Then again maybe I'll figure it all out and move past all this to re-enter the real world of skyscrapers and asphalt highways. And maybe I'll learn to forget it all instead of forever plugging the holes in the stone wall that I have constructed around myself. Because right now I'm drowning in it and I'm running out of fingers with which I can plug the holes. Maybe I should give it all up; retreat back inside myself, plucking my finger tips from the stony face. Maybe I should let it all crash down and have myself committed or worse.

Maybe I should just slit the veins up my wrists and enjoy the last bite of the delicious pain before I go cold to it all forever. I though I cut it all out long ago. I though it could never touch me again.

I thought I had let it all go. But here it is. My gnawing little daemon; my dark little incubus. It sucks me dry like a vampyre and fucks my mind like a psychosis. And I've really done it this time. I've gone and made it a gigantic part of me, that I simply cannot extract and cannot truly live with just yet.

Please, someone tell me that it finally packs its bags and leaves you in piece. That the heady air finally stops trying to turn your lungs into and unfunctionable cancer. And the horrid little movie that plays over and over again in your head finally chokes the projector with its melodrama, so that I can go on with my life without guilt and the pangs.

I simply thought I had surpassed that little girl that kneels; her hands folded hopelessly, with her head hanging over them in defeat, in the centre of that dark little room. I though I had found the way out - but I only constructed a larger room to hide in.

I'm tired of this. I'm tired of having to pick myself up and drag myself back to my feet and walk away from it all in a never ending circle. But I've fallen in love with the pain of it all. I've fallen into sadistic love with the isolation and the concept. I've fallen in love with the excuse.

But even that is a lie, because I was so scared.

Love Always,

Angel