The Depression Diaries, n°65: I was a camera until I went blind

Night comes and I feel like telling stories that I don't quite know if they were real, but if I'm never certain that doesn't make me a liar. Even though I am — I hoped you could read me. Somewhere, the fast forward button of the control of my life is pressed so damn hard that I forget I am a person, with a body, with a sorrow. Imagine it as if it were sea waves, I'm suddenly there and I don't belong; I am brought back here and I don't have a home. Of course there's a place for me in this world, even if it's on a graveyard. Do you believe that? The eternal search for ourselves and what to make of it comes from wanting to be akin of those we love. Sometimes believing isn't enough. 

It's the sunset and I want to tell you so many things about the type of bird that eats all my organs everyday; it all grows back up after midnight. It's a silent abduction, you wouldn't want to hear about that. You'd make it all about yourself in the end. Don't misjudge me, I bring no shame upon you, I've never been good at doing that. My kidnapping into the underworld has nothing to do with you, no matter how many times you ask me about it. Don't you get it? No creature alive could turn me into an island, I am forever unbowed even when sprawled over the floor beside your bed. Every time I look at my arms I see shackles on my wrists, yet my knees won't bend. I'd rather die by my hand in every life than to allow someone to hold this kind of power. This is why I tell you nothing, but I hope you like birds anyways. 

The next story is simple, it's about a boy and a girl. Not in that kind of way, it's him being there when I needed someone to obsess over it. Your job was barely well done and you still looked like you could rip my heart out of my chest at any time. Funny how you never lived up to the you inside my head, me neither. You never loved me and I never loved you, but you were fun to daydream about. Human bodies that aren't really real are my favorites, at least in my head when I pretend I didn't care, you cared. There was no white horse and you never had the balls to kiss me again, it's boring and it's nothing worth to remember. The wheel of time waits for no one and allows no rewinds, but I would've kissed you longer if I knew how quickly you'd fade away. 

There was a time I didn't live in my head and I did everything right, poster kid of the generation of children that would be known by name in this place. As a matter of fact, today I'm an ace only in holding back. Concealing is a skill then it turns into a cage, no matter how fancy a cage may look like; it's still a cage. It's bigger on the inside though, might look like a ship container by now. Throw a fearful moment inside, throw all the people that told me they wouldn't leave (and left), it fits everything. Never open your Pandora's box, wait five years, wait fifteen years; at the right time it'll start to leak blood and tears. It's not my fault, they say. I never asked to go through this stuff, they say. Am I expected to forgive and forget? Walk with thorns wrapped around your toes for most of your life and see if it turns you into a benign creature. In my head you are the monster, and you knew that you were. Sins demand punishments, and I hope that you're still in flames. I can't say these things out loud. There's still this child in me that wants to be understood with her silence. 

All the girls in the world are stories worth telling. I wouldn't know where to start even if I had a guide book. In my dreams, there was this girl, all in black, that came to me and brought me a pair of shoes, it was lovely. I really didn't care for the shoes, her hands in my skin were the only thing worth of inventing. The antics of my creations are never quite original, but I'd give you my feet if that meant that you could walk in reality with me and hold my hand, I don't mind crawling. It's understandable that you've noticed at this point that melodrama is my specialty.

Why do humans are so eager to write down their explorations for posterity? Oblivion it's not a curse, it's a blessing. To fade away, hand in invisible hand, it's not like you'd think. I've been burning for so long, so brightly, I'm not even warm there's no point, stars are lonely and dead, I don't want to be seen. You see, most of the things I want to forget are those that made me into who I am today, and I really hate myself. Would you still look down on me for this? The way I hurt myself has nothing to do with anyone, but you still want to be the hero. Am I the dragon or the princess? You can choose. However, you won't. Not until it's useless and you still think it's about you. It's not my fault I habit this body, and I never blamed you for being so oblivious about how much I've sunk in this sand. Always choose yourself first, it's the right thing to do; maybe if I had done this a bit earlier in my head I wouldn't have opened that box. Scratch that, I'm a fool. I'll always take the bullet for you even with your hand stabbing me in the guts. I don't know how to love in any other way.