A strange deep seated sadness, so deep, so far beyond reach. Just
bubbling up now and again to torment me and drive me to madness, to make
my life a little bit more hellish, a little bit less happy. Where does
this come from? Is it some old buried childhood tragedy, rising up
like a nightmare, to torment and strangle? It just twists you up and
leaves you a mess of knots, dries you up, leaves nothing more than a
dried crumbling leaf of a person.
Misery, thy name is truly mine, for we are one and the same,
seemingly uncaring, but caring more than most. Innocent words bring
deep cuts, scars, tears. Old wounds made new again, and again and
again. This is like purgatory, except there's always a way out, a path
to nothingness, an endless silence, a sweet surrender.
I want to cry, to open myself and release this pain, but it can't
even find it to release it, it just bubbles up a little at a time,
a faint taste is all, but that's enough to know it's there. It's like a
great dark pearl hidden deep in the soul, surrounded by layers and
layers of impenetrable shells. Sometimes I can come so close, as if I
can claw at it with tendrils of thought. To no avail, no scratches are
made, it just stings the rest of me, and my thoughts slide off, and
retreat to their own secret hiding places to lick their wounds, and
crushing, mindless pain flashes through.