Psychic Solitude

The silence has been broken by discordant melodies and angsty screams. The solitude numbs me. I stared into the mirror for a few minutes, noting the minute changes that reflected my rebirth from an emotional zombie into a human boy whose heart was scarred and cracked. Still, I felt and that was the main thing wasn't it? I enjoyed simple pleasures like taste. I ate and my weight ballooned from a skeletal 45kg to a healthy 60kg. I enjoyed the pleasure a simple touch could bring, and I marveled at the world I had missed out on when I was younger. Memories were all too often suppressed, and I spent my younger years wandering aimlessly, and wondering needlessly. I wander no more, I stay here on my high tower far away from the rest of humanity, and far away from their pain. I wonder no more, for the answers frighten me, and I no longer ask. Today I play my swan song, a tribute to 19 years of life, 19 years of being someone strange and odd, the child who sat under trees and watched the world go by when I thought my head would explode from containing all the pain. It has always been me alone. Wandering around in parks and gardens, hands in my pockets, felines mewling around my ankles, purring and somehow soothing the misery that enveloped me. The trees shaded me in good weather or bad, and I could lie on grass as soft as velvet and whisper all my secrets to the winds, allow them to snatch the words from my lips and carry them far away from me, scattering them to the four corners of the earth. Those times are long gone now. I have somehow managed to become Pinnochio. Transformed into a real boy, regardless of not whether I want reality to be part of my life. My father has not called, and my hope is beginning to wane. Right now I could collapse in a field of green and not move until the next century. My tears will do the earth some good. I have no wish to see anyone right now, because I will only feel more pained if I do. My father is mortal and susceptible to the many weaknesses that plague man. In a previous blog entry, I wrote that I hoped the apple falls far far far from the tree. How prophetic those words seem now. The foundation that makes up my world is falling apart. I don't care. I don't feel much anymore. I think it's my defense mechanism. I'm tired of losing the people and things that matter to me. The list is endless, I assure you. I have never asked for mortal pleasures like clothes, or accessories, or money even. I can get by without all these. But emotional bonds are sacred to me, and the sanctity of this bond has been tainted and befouled by the vilest demon from the bowels of hell. Yet I cannot find it in my heart of hearts to hate her passionately. I can't. Nor can I turn my back on my father. But what can I do? I'm only a boy. Worse, I'm only a boy who is hopeless at emotion, be it receiving, giving or displaying. I don't know what to do. A few minutes of quiet contemplation in front of the mirror, and suddenly my words came back to haunt me. I was talking to Alex a few years ago, and I told him my heart was a maze full of mirrors, with each one showing me a reflection of what I wanted. But they were only illusions, never the real thing. It is mad, I think, that I can remember such small details with such vivid accuracy, and yet other more terrifying experiences with the darker side of man leaves only a foggy imprint in the recesses of my memory. I have quite lost all my appetite, and on a whim considered not eating. At the very least, I'll be detoxifying my body. Too bad there isn't a detox treatment for the heart. I have been feeling emotionally colder as the night progressed, and now I am so frozen I couldn't care less what happens next. I can only wait for night, when I am free to walk these hallways of darkness alone and unfettered by human restrictions and societal expectations. The chains that bind me to this place are only temporary. I will never, ever show weakness in the form of emotion again. It is both foolish and dangerous. I already know what R will say regarding this post. 'You're going back to your old ways.' I don't give a damn. I'm tired and I'm hurting and I'm tired of hurting. My eyes are bloodshot, and my stomach is ill with the abuses I put it through last night, and I just want to curl up in my corner and dream of the times forever lost to me. The four walls cage me in, but if I desire solitude, I must consent to be chained in this hellish dungeon until moonrise.