I don't know how much longer I can take this. In "this," I exist in a perpetual cycle of nothingness; an omnipotent frustration causes me to gaze into the cold black night and plead for no tomorrow. In the morning I flake smears of dried salt from my eyes, having adhered to my pillowcase. I breathlessly curse the light draping over my white bedspread, imbuing a sense of clinical asepticism before muscle-memory leads me into the bathroom half-unconscious.
Western medicine provides no assistance for my condition. I've literally become accustomed to a state of dormancy, swallowing inordinate amounts of rage and disgust and conceding I've no control over a destiny which I never fathomed to pursue. I hold the key to my future, but exist in claustrophobic room where all doors are blocked by acerbic guards; meanwhile, once friendly and understanding faces have turned their backs in a state of incredulity.
My back is pushed so far against the veritable wall, I suffer bouts of literal (albeit physically crippling) compression sickness - akin to a jet fighter (sans thrill). I hold myself steady against the cold slab of granite, submersing my face in ice-cold water, hoping to shock my conscience from my uncomfortably numb state.
Everyday is the same. There is no questioning my genuine love for life, and I've been blessed with many gifts - though most have been systematically obscured and moulded-over by extrinsic events beyond my control and lifetime. I am broke, broken, and tethered to this mortal coil; and I shudder to think my once indomitable heart has been shattered in pieces too innumerable to retrieve. Nevertheless, the most difficult part is having no anchor. My friends have all but written-me off; I just cannot live a liar's life - if nothing but for my own subjective, intolerable existence as a son of parents who traveled such path.
I need help for a problem that, for all intent and purposes, does not exist. Henceforth, I shoulder the weight my father chose to avert; and in return he generously covers a portion of my meager rent. My "truth" is contrary to what is ingrained in the entire planet's perception, and the one time I challenged that fact, I was arrested under a felonious warrant of "Involuntary Detainment." My parents had my ex-fiance (this fiasco proved too much for her; she soon left me after six years) submit a statement proclaiming I was a "danger to myself and others." Two years later, I've not achieved the same degree of comfort as before two large undercover police officers broke into my home, quickly cuffing me as I tried to recover my bearings from a prematurely terminated nap.
And so I waste away, sapped of my resources and well-being. It's hard to express the gravity of my situation, as it's undoubtedly unique and tragic. But the last thing I desire is pity or indignation; my only dream is to feel love again... a shoulder to rest my weary head, an understanding ear to lend. I am barred from doing what I love, bound tightly to my literal non-existence. Yet I know things are coming to a head, and I don't suspect a gentle manifestation thereof. A 28 year old can only take so much, especially after discovering his life has been the lie to end all lies.
There is no consolation but to end this with freedom... an escape. "By hook or by crook."
"Who are you, girl? 'Cuz I'm so bored with myself"
Queens of the Stone Age - Regular John