A Story Of Devastation.

 the following is something that i wrote in my journal a little over three years ago:

     These past two years, or perhaps even longer, I have been waiting and searching. Unable to come up with reasons for all my trials or answers to all my questions. I'm not quite sure how it is possible to let go of the past. At least not completely and entirely. There's always this flicker in the back of my mind of what once was. It lingers in when it is most unwelcome. Then it carries me away to times that are so hopelessly gone. I cry sometimes because I'm not quite sure how I got to where I am today. It's like I was standing at the top of a mountain, and a swift landslide captured my balance and I was dragged to the bottom. Faster than any train could take me to a different destination. At the bottom of the mountain I can see the sky so far out of reach, so endlessly vast and consuming. I seem to have lost my determination to touch the clouds. I've lost what it means to live with ardor and passion. There seems to be no reasons for times like this, or feelings like this. I met a person on the street today that told me that everyone's lives are the same. I ran home right away, and knelt beside my bed to pray. I prayed that this was not true. I asked God to let me live a different life, to break the mold. He did not answer back. But I'm still waiting for his reply. 
     This could just as easily be you speaking. You could just as simply be standing in my shoes. And if you were, I would hope you could find it in you to run away. Claim that there's hope along the horizon. Then go out and take hold of it. There are times when people will ask "How did you get like this?". I'll tell them a story of what I believe is the reason. It's an old story, everyone has one like it. A story of being young and believing in endless possibilities. Enjoying every twist, every turn. Until one turn leads you to a hellish place, where dreams don't become a reality, but nightmares rip through your life. And I think back and I'm sitting in a truck and my charming father is crying. It's an aching cry, that makes my eyes squirm in my head as they are flooded with tears. In an parking lot, where trees actually take up more space than automobiles. His voice is loud but shaking. He struggles through the syllables. I never knew someone could cry so hard. I can actually see his pain. His profound sorrow has taken on a physical manifestation. It lingers in the truck. It's suffocating. My emotional agony is so overwhelming that my body begins to hurt. I don't want to make it worse for him. My criticism and blame turn to sympathy and pity. Out of the ordeal I just wanted to make sense of it all. A sense of abandonment had left me not only lonely, but angry. I never realized the pain my father kept locked in his heart.        
     This was the one time I can truly say I felt alive. It was the dramatic urgency of human emotions that made me realize that I was alive. I couldn't look away from all of the torment and anguish that swelled and surged all around me like a wave. This was what changed me. I quickly became an adult after this day. How could I go home and watch cartoon's. How could I live as a child should, when I now recognized the world as a dark hollow place. Toys now would not suffice, they would not and could not make me happy. After my realization that life was not a fairytale, and was indeed a heartbreaking journey, I tried anything to fill up the void. Moved far away. Lived a life that I considered worth living. But the many nights with different boys, intoxicated and blacked out, left me wasted and empty. I was at the bottom of the rock wall with no harness. And now I'm trying get a tight enough grip on the rocks so that I can pull myself back up the sky.

now: these words still hold some truth to how i feel about my parents divorce. i'm not sure it truly ever gets easier to deal with. i think the pain is still there, i'm still bleeding below the surface but i am able to think about it less. sometimes though, i realize that my mother still hasn't figured out life without my dad (though, i'm not sure that she ever had life figured out with him) and i feel sad and angry, both for her and at her. i still sink into depression sometimes when i think about my fractured family. i still tend to push away my stepmother because there are still issues i haven't sorted out with my own parents. i still have anger that my dad decided to move on, though, it is his right to be happy. My father and i do get along a lot better now, but i will always remember listening to my mother cry herself to sleep, nearly every night for two years. i guess, i will never understand divorce and hopefully, will never have to go through one. i'm sorry if i sound like i'm residing in self-pity land or if my rambling has begun to bore you...but i thought i would post something about an issue that still haunts me despite times promise to heal all wounds.


THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO ACTUALLY READ THIS ALL THE WAY THROUGH AND IF YOU ARE GOING THROUGH THE SAME THING, I FEEL FOR YOU.


PIECE,
   CAKE