My Diary- Entry 2

Dear Broken,1

It saddens me. It. Everything. My life, my world, my day. You see, normally when I should feel this kind of emotional pain, I would be on my bed crying my eyes out at the feeling of my heart ripping open before it mended itself once again. I’d find comfort in my tears, letting them be the home of my beloved sorrow as it works its way out of me. But now for some reason, the tears offer no solace as they once did. And for some reason, the pain seems awfully different.2

I hate the feeling I feel now. The feeling of your conscious shredding and ripping its way apart as it twists and breaks your soul. In other words, when you get in trouble for something when you were only trying to help. An example from long ago, when my brother was still around and I was young. I don’t remember it much, so bear with me here. My brother had come up to my room to count money or something. I went to the bathroom and when I got back I noticed my best pens for school were gone. I don’t remember how exactly because I wasn’t there, but I knew my brother had stolen them, probably just because he had lost his own. But I went to my stepfather to tell him what had happened, and he made this huge deal about accusing someone when you had no proof, and how rude and inconsiderate it was. He pain no attention even to what the “accusation” was, but I just wanted something of mine back. I had gotten yelled at and scolded for something that I didn’t even understand at the time. I just guess that was his way of teaching me things about life- through pain. Anyways, I never got them back. I guess this is a bad example because in this situation I wasn’t actually trying to help, but I still got in trouble for doing something that anyone else would do. A better example is like when your parents fight and you try to break it up, but they get mad at you because it was none of your business.  Hmmm, I can only wonder how many times that has happened....3

But anyway, for some reason that pain hurts more than others. It hurts more than getting blamed for something you didn’t do,  more than having insults tossed at you from every direction, more than when you get in trouble for hitting someone when they hit you first. Every type of incident has its own pain, but this seems to hurt most of all.4

But where I was getting with this...the pain I felt when this happened today seems different, like it was not really there in a way. I found out the hard way that a good way to deal with pain is to look at it from a different view, to look into the pain as an outsider, and to wonder at it. And as I did that to escape my pain from the event earlier today, I realized how less the pain was becoming. I hardly felt it. I found no tears because they would not comfort me; I felt little pain, I guess now that was because I had felt it so often. I felt pain, one way or another, every day. No escape, no matter how I tried to get away. No matter if I tried early in the morning to hopefully suppress any pain that would come that day, the sorrow came, always. I understand now that I had felt the pain so many times, it seemed forgotten within me, like I had an immunity to it. Sounds weird doesn’t it, an immunity to pain. But it was real. I hardly felt anything, when long ago that would have sent me into a wrath of sadness and torment. But it didn’t. The agonizing pain that should have been there was less than ever before. It made me pity myself, knowing that I had felt the pain so often it just seemed like a burden to me now. A burden, like any other emotion. It is true, nobody, no matter how hard they try, can be stone. But this new absence of pain has made me wonder on that.5

I have always seen emotions as nothing more than internal parasites who only get in the way of what you are trying to accomplish. I wanted to be emotionless, hollow, like a stone. But now that I finally get a small taste of that severe absence, I really don’t know. It seems odd, unreal, relieving. But, is it real? Is anything real? How can one person be so sure that everything they see, think, and feel, that their entire world, is not just an illusion. How can we be sure that pain, happiness, sorrow, whatever emotion, is what we should feel, what should be real. How can we be sure of anything?6

I felt all these sensations earlier today just before I started writing this. I do not want to go into further detail, but now hopefully someone will know what it is like, feeling the pain that should be there, slowly slipping away into nothingness, into the sorrow that you feel that something is not as it should be, that is not there. It saddens me. It. Everything. My life, my world, my day.7