A Letter to Anyone That Cares
If you're reading this for some sort of insight into my mind, I may be able to deliver. You may laugh at me; you may walk away never knowing if I actually had a point or not. But, even if you are a part of the unfortunate many that do not understand me, I will know that I at least touched your life in some way, if only for a moment.
If you choose to read this unfortunate essay to cheer you up or brighten your day, I beg of you to turn back now. To exit the program and never attempt to read this particular entry again. Because I can promise you, it will not be cheerful nor will it brighten your day in any way.
I've been thinking back on my life for many days and weeks now although none of you probably realized just how often I was. Everytime I just let natural instinct kick in I was pondering my pathetic excuse for a life and painful childhood. Many nights have I laid awake thinking about crying, willing the tears to come, but it never happens. Praying, almost, for that one night when I can cry myself to sleep because it would be a relief to not have to be that strong. I don't want to be "strong" anymore but it's become second nature to me.
My entire has been a carefully constructed tangle of lies so interwoven and intricate that most days I feel as if they'll swallow me whole. Don't ask me why I have now decided to reveal this much of myself. To you remind you all that I am an actual person under the tough exterior. That when I zone out in class, most times, I find my self blinking away tears.
Many people find the urge to take away their life, to end the present pain. But only a select few know what it's like to fight to just have a reason to want to be alive. I suppose that's why I cling to sex. Some turn to "God" or some other holy force while I cling to flesh and what's right in front of my eyes. It has entered my life in some form so often.
I am not perfect but I know that someone will want me, if only for quick use of my body to relieve stress or whatever stupid emotion they think they feel. People fuck anywhere at anytime. It's all I have to rely on. So, for anyone who ever wondered why I was so "dirty-minded". There is your reasoning. I can't pretend that I don't feel something every time I point out another innuendo or masturbate in the late hours of the night alone in my room. Usually, I only feel that sinking emptyness that comes with the realization that, while I did get off or had a laugh, everyone else has someone to go to and share it with.
I guess most days I'm just lonely because I can't share all of myself with one person. A slipped fact here and there and I already get enough pity. I don't trust people enough to share that much of myself with anyone completely.
Even writing this, my eyes are tearing up and I've goosebumbs up the length of my arms. I think I've realized why people hurt themselves physically, and I'm not saying I do, but it makes perfect sense. That want a logical reason to hurt as much as they do. They base it all on their physical appearence with the rationale that it's alright to hurt if you can see the bruises and cuts afterward. Emotional pain is too much to deal with so they set their sights on hurting their body as much as their mind already hurts.
Like, when people are more forgiving to those who attempt suicide than to those who are dealing with emotional pain but cry all day. People who haven't felt that deep searing pit in thier stomach telling them they should be dead and that everytime they look at a knife afterward they think how easy it would be just can't understand the mindset of those who have.
"I tear my heart open,
I sew myself shut.
My weakness is,
That I care too much.
The scars remind us,
That the past is real.
I tear my heart open,
Just to feel."
-Papa Roach
If you choose to read this unfortunate essay to cheer you up or brighten your day, I beg of you to turn back now. To exit the program and never attempt to read this particular entry again. Because I can promise you, it will not be cheerful nor will it brighten your day in any way.
I've been thinking back on my life for many days and weeks now although none of you probably realized just how often I was. Everytime I just let natural instinct kick in I was pondering my pathetic excuse for a life and painful childhood. Many nights have I laid awake thinking about crying, willing the tears to come, but it never happens. Praying, almost, for that one night when I can cry myself to sleep because it would be a relief to not have to be that strong. I don't want to be "strong" anymore but it's become second nature to me.
My entire has been a carefully constructed tangle of lies so interwoven and intricate that most days I feel as if they'll swallow me whole. Don't ask me why I have now decided to reveal this much of myself. To you remind you all that I am an actual person under the tough exterior. That when I zone out in class, most times, I find my self blinking away tears.
Many people find the urge to take away their life, to end the present pain. But only a select few know what it's like to fight to just have a reason to want to be alive. I suppose that's why I cling to sex. Some turn to "God" or some other holy force while I cling to flesh and what's right in front of my eyes. It has entered my life in some form so often.
I am not perfect but I know that someone will want me, if only for quick use of my body to relieve stress or whatever stupid emotion they think they feel. People fuck anywhere at anytime. It's all I have to rely on. So, for anyone who ever wondered why I was so "dirty-minded". There is your reasoning. I can't pretend that I don't feel something every time I point out another innuendo or masturbate in the late hours of the night alone in my room. Usually, I only feel that sinking emptyness that comes with the realization that, while I did get off or had a laugh, everyone else has someone to go to and share it with.
I guess most days I'm just lonely because I can't share all of myself with one person. A slipped fact here and there and I already get enough pity. I don't trust people enough to share that much of myself with anyone completely.
Even writing this, my eyes are tearing up and I've goosebumbs up the length of my arms. I think I've realized why people hurt themselves physically, and I'm not saying I do, but it makes perfect sense. That want a logical reason to hurt as much as they do. They base it all on their physical appearence with the rationale that it's alright to hurt if you can see the bruises and cuts afterward. Emotional pain is too much to deal with so they set their sights on hurting their body as much as their mind already hurts.
Like, when people are more forgiving to those who attempt suicide than to those who are dealing with emotional pain but cry all day. People who haven't felt that deep searing pit in thier stomach telling them they should be dead and that everytime they look at a knife afterward they think how easy it would be just can't understand the mindset of those who have.
"I tear my heart open,
I sew myself shut.
My weakness is,
That I care too much.
The scars remind us,
That the past is real.
I tear my heart open,
Just to feel."
-Papa Roach