Ravings of a sort.

Emptiness. That’s what I feel within myself. I feel blackness, and have so for as long as I can remember. I wont sink to revolting levels of telling how my parents abused me, or how everything in my existence is bound to break eventually, like so much fragile china.

I have no pity for myself. Sometimes I gaze off at nothing at all, and I’ve realized that this is an unconscious searching within myself to find some piece of me that isn’t jaded, in an attempt to rebuild what was broken. Once, every so often, I may try to reach a hand out to someone, both in a vain attempt to offer the shallow physical contact that every human being craves, and to try and reach out of the ashes of the smoldering pile of filth that is me, to see if anyone will take my hand and give me salvation. But, as with every other time I have done this, I draw back at the last instant, whether it be that I am afraid of this human contact, or that maybe on some level, I don’t want the retribution, the metaphorical salvation that being pulled from the “ashes” would bring.

If you look at just the right time, you can catch a glimpse of what lies in another person’s soul, just by a happenstance glance into their eyes. I am a firm believer that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Which may explain my reasoning for lowering, or in some other way averting my eyes so that no one can see them. I never claimed to be different from anyone else, or that I was “special” as people so often think themselves. Everyone has his or her own shortcomings, so to speak. But, the fact remains that aside from the ones each person holds dear to their heart, and in some, if not most cases, no one will look twice. People pass each other by everyday, with casual glances, never enough to truly begin to understand one another. To look close, means to realize, and accept that while people desire contact, interaction with one another on a base primal level, they shun it at the same time. I won’t make excuses, nor will I attempt to understand why this is. In a world where each individual person cares little for his/her fellow human being, to truly attempt to understand what another person goes through, would in some way be taking a part of that person with you. I have no delusions that I mean that much to anyone, nor do I think I would want to. To truly be alone, I think, you first need to know what it means not to be alone, and I do not.

Don’t mistake the things I say for cries of help, that is NOT what I intend. I only mean to channel the black nature of the emotions that dwell within me onto something tangible, so that maybe, just maybe someone else might benefit from the things I feel, and find a better way to come to terms with these emotions. Yes, I was abused as a child, and yes, on a subconscious level I deeply resent this, and the other things that have happened to me in my life. Not to feel this way is not to be human. I resent the fact that everyone I thought I might “love” has in some way or another turned on me, whether it was simply leaving, or taking extra measures to “cut” me, so to speak. I won’t say that I feel nothing, that the darkness that writhes inside me day in, and day out doesn’t cause a reaction for me. On the contrary, I feel like a little piece of me is chipped away everyday, and that little piece is a part of me, my existence. I feel cold inside, and I don’t know how to “warm up”. I feel hollow, and don’t know how to fill that hollowness. To say that I don’t think sometimes of taking my own life would be a lie, and I wont lie, as many things as I can be held accountable for, Ill not have that as one of them. I do feel that way, everyday to be honest. I also know that it wont change anything, and that the small bit of difference, and help that the resonance of humanity I still posses could offer would be extinguished, and where I could have possibly helped another person, that chance would as well be gone. I wont say that is my purpose, its not. But if just one person can benefit even a small bit from the things I say, or write, then at least that much can be said. I. Just like everyone else, feel the need to cry out, even when I, like many other people, already know ahead of time that no one will be there to listen. I think each of us have within ourselves the makings of a “black hole” for lack of a better phrase. The feeling of drowning inside yourself, being sucked heart and soul into the wretchedness within, is there, even if you don’t know it. The difference is how each person chooses to accept it. I myself have, whether it be purposely, or on that separate “plane” of being we call sub-consciousness, have chosen to let my personal ocean of bleakness devour me, completely. I wont reach for a hand, and should someone pull me from this sickness, I should chalk it up to the fact that not every person on Earth chooses to disregard the complete hopelessness that everyone faces. But, on the same token, I do not, I never have, nor most likely will I ever warrant, or give anyone reason to do this.