Psychic Fatigue

I have taken my rest, but my soul remains weary. I scent danger coming, and I believe my reputation precedes itself, at least where familial ties are concerned. I have spent the last five...no, six years now, defending myself. My very values, the very components that make up who I am have been called into question. My skills, my talent, my gift with words...I considered giving them up yesterday. My passion for music, as I sat staring at the keys, watching the shadows elongate across the room in proportion to the passage of time...I contemplated just giving up. My dad hits closer to the bone than he knows. I do have a tendency to vanish from sight, particularly when I am troubled. Right now, the world, at least the part I'm in, has begun to stir from a restful slumber. I have been suppressing a raging headache, and I think my defenses, mental and emotional, are already worn thin. Light peeks through the darkened skies, but I believe hope has ceased to exist within my heart. If this is what time and experience brings, I want no part of it. I wish to retain my innocence, childish and idealistic they may be. I may be condemned a million times over, but I want to protect the remnants of a heart too often shattered and trampled upon. I have spent the many hours since the family fiasco crying, thinking, reflecting. Only three people now share the dubious honour of having seen me cry. Back to the point. The rift has deepened, and for some reason, I believe it will not heal for some time to come. I can do nothing to speed the healing process, except keep my distance. Yet it has been said that it is this very thing that caused the wound in the first place: my distancing myself. It is a very damning thing to be unable to trust. I recognise that I have every reason to be mistrustful. There are things cluttered in my history that till today I fear to examine. I have always been communicating through impersonal mediums, and even now, when I have grown past the shy, silent stage, I cannot express myself to another person. I am afraid of what the immediate future holds. I keep within my breast many secrets that could tear my world apart, should these secrets come to light. Being their guardian, am I condemned to an eternity of darkness? My soul seeks respite from these constant battles, yet I cannot find the rest that I so desperately need. My body aches from that fight, though I am loathe to admit it. My entire torso screams with every move I make. Each moment that passes only serves to increase my doubt that the storm will blow over soon. Perhaps the climate has changed permanently. In which case, I, a free spirit, must soon make preparations for yet another migration. No one will tell me what rippled outwards from the explosion I was involved in, therefore I have no way of telling what the shards and shrapnel pierced. Perhaps they tore away the veil of illusions the people around me have been gazing at all this while. Perhaps it is a new path for me, for us all. Or perhaps it could mean the end.