Topic: Bitter Patience, Sour Thoughts

Patience Required

Date: 2016-09-26 17:40 EST
Cold Cold Cold by Cage the Elephant

It all aches. From the ends of my fingers to the tips of my toes. As though the marrow in my bones throbs to swell and bleed out of my pores. The tendons of my muscles pulsate with the pain of over exhaustion, they are so tight because I've clinched together and tried to stay bound. Like I have pneumonia where my lungs are coated with disease and every breath is a labored wheeze. It hurts.

The doctor says that I'm fine. There is nothing wrong. How is it then that I do not feel right' Why do I feel like I no longer belong in the skin that I'm in" Why do I not recognize the face in the mirror" The image is distorted, blurred and smudged in the reflection. No one else seems to notice. They don't see what I see. It's questionable whether or not what I see is even real.

It's all in your mind he says.

He doesn't mean for it to be cruel, he's trying for reassurance. For comfort and compassion, to encourage a resilience within me that will bounce back like a coiled spring. He's trying to be understanding, but I regularly lack the words for any sort of explanation. How do I explain when I fail to comprehend what is wrong?

If I become apathetic, could we fall into complacency' Tell myself that I am fine and use it as a comfortable sort of notion, a veil that allows us to pretend that I'm okay, he's okay, we're okay. I'll become to grow accustomed to this face, this skin that peels and itches and flakes, but never returns into something I readily recognize anymore.

I don't like to lie though.

I know that I'm not okay.

In due time: have patience.

I laugh.

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ekR9IDO_LZQ/Vqy_lbKzfQI/AAAAAAAAYmE/GvHS6KgY4co/s1600/spirit-science.jpg

Patience Required

Date: 2016-09-27 17:34 EST
Dying Inside by Gary Barlow

Is the shower meant to be a sanctuary'

A place of quiet meditation while you mindlessly act in the repetitive ritual of lather, rinse, repeat' There's an assortment of scrubs, soaps, scents and shampoos left in various bottles that are haphazardly arranged on the floor of the shower. Go in dirty and damaged, come out clean and fresh scented. Be renewed. Rejuvenated.

I feel none of those things.

My hair comes out in clumps in the shower. Outside of it: it accumulates too, but in shower it's messy knots of wet muck that I helplessly continue to remove. Brushing or combing is just as bad, the aftermath left briefly on the bathroom floor. You can clean it up, but there is always going to be more. Still more to pick up, still more to fall. Can I wax poetic about it being pieces of me that fall off, but I'm not left with smoother or softer edges"

More grows to fill its place. It's brittle and broken, frayed at the edges and feels coarse to the touch, dry and knotted in a rat's nest of tangles. There is no new healthy strands, it all feels wiry.

What was once good goes down the drain. It's not washing off the pain, but leaves me raw and more vulnerable than before. Like soap in my eyes, it ignites a sting in a way that tells me I'm still alive, with a wet type of burn that you are forced to wait out till it slowly dissipates.

No one seems to notice. Does that mean its okay' Is this another item on the list of what I see as different from the rest of the world" Or is it a measure of politeness, people avert their eyes from that which is bad. I want to know what other people see when they look at me, but to learn how to better hide myself from view. How to perfect it. Yet, if no one seems to notice and I only see a haze of a face in the mirror, does that mean I've succeeded?

Another day is budding and forming, but I don't see the light of success.

I cry in the shower, to let it all out.

Lather, rinse, repeat.