The Day After Death

I made a chocolate cake the day after the day I was slain, and I ate the entire thing, no frosting, just hott chocolate cake filling my veins and cold milk erasing the memory of it all.

Books are good company when your life is suddenly sliding down the drain of the world, they are like little life rafts, escaping shuttles from this planet to another, a different world, a different time, a different problem. They carry you away, and return you a little less aware, its like slowly forgetting your name, and not remembering to care.

I am in a good mood to escape, I am back where I started and it hurts just that much more for having been gone. They are back to keep me company though, and they are less hate full, they can feel that the anguish is enough to break me and are leaving off for a while.

Sometimes all I can do is lay on my bed and stare at the bars, wishing to forget everything, wishing to wake up a different person, or to not wake up at all, to stay forever asleep and know that all my adventures in my dreams are mine to keep always, to live apart from everyone, to die and leave behind nothing.

There are little parts of me, that I have to wall off, like a little construction worker, I crawl into the broken places and lay down the concrete walls that will slowly restrict the flow of life to those parts of me that no longer can function as required, I build myself into an impenetrable castle that you will never break into again, that no one will ever break into, that I myself will never escape. I am invincible, if I just keep telling myself so.

There are days when time just stops and you can see everything as if it was one big moment, all together, the beginning and the end combine in a beautiful painting of the messiness of life, the pain is part of the joy, the joy a consequence of pain, a delicious aftereffect of being born. Our lives are constantly in motion, spinning like a kaleidoscope’s many colors, they touch each other for seconds, building emotions in the brief lifespan of two colors, and then are ripped away to merge and remerge with other colors, each person is only a color only the sound of time ticking its way through your life, one bead at a time, one love, one color, one piece more in the puzzle that will complete you.

Why do skulls always smile? Lying there with no life in them, a forced grimace peeling over their bones? I think its because they have escaped the chaos of motion and can sleep in peace, knowing that it wont ever be the same again.

I want to go ride my bike, helmet less and at high speeds, feeling the motor pulsing beneath me, pulsing and throbbing to be unleashed, pushing the speed up and up, flying until I break something, until I wash away the mental pain with a physical pain deep enough to black me out, deep enough to maybe kill me.

I am speaking in fragments, losing thoughts as quickly as they form in my head, where am I going with all these paragraphs on skulls and the colors in a kaleidoscope. I write, I think, simply to fill the void in my heart and head with words, millions and millions of tiny words repeated over and over to form a litany of excuses and reasons, and finally when I have said it enough I will believe it, I will transcend humanity and become soaked in my words so that nothing can ever touch me again, not even myself.

But humanity is to great a thing to lose, its been two days, and I am finally feeling myself melt, feeling the hatred dissolve just a little, feeling the music coursing through my veins lift me back to my old land, half soaked in blood and gray muck, but half of me reaching for the light. When all is lost you still have hope, and when hope is lost there is nothing left to lose. I will try again, like my Sobe bottle suggested on that horrible day “ Now is a good time to try again” but not now, now I will spend my time soaking in the quiet newness, I will build my castle and sink into my black pools of dead, but I will come out again, when the fragments of my soul reach out with there thin strands of flexibility and sew themselves back together.

Too many days alone, shapes my life into this cold land of silence, the sharp kind, that twists every sound into a strangled death. There is ice in my heart preserving the fainted body in its center, where I lie dreaming of floating, of drifting slowly away in a warm ocean my body bobbing on a gentle wave as it pulls me into the sun, I can sleep forever in that ocean waiting and waiting for the right moment, the moment when all is as it should be and the dark ones get tired of waiting for my return, I am after all a pacifist, but a strong one, if I needed to retake my soul, my last retreat, I could.

Now that I am again alone with myself, my plan can be reinstated if I wish, you know the one, get knocked up and have a baby by myself, feel the only kind of love that is unconditional (at least for a time) I wish in my heart that I loved my mother, that would give me hope for my future child. That is really what he is, a future child, my only future really, he is the one thing in my life that is certain, I will have him if I have to hire someone to sleep with me. But not yet, I will watch him from my catatonic state, until I feel that the time is right. Maybe I will use all this horribleness to focus on my homework, my writing. Concentrate on graduating.

I do wonder sometimes what the finality was in the death of the thing, it does me no good to think about it, but then anything I do is far from good for me. It is likely the break down of my mental stability that pushed him away in the end, or possibly the pressure from other areas, the impending doom of both our schools, my disgusting parents or the pressure to break down and make it before I am 18. I don’t care anymore, but the harsh reality is that somehow I failed, but this time I am not taking it lying down. I am tired of failure, tired of acting like it is something I am destined for, tired of whining and moaning about curses and inadequacy, I am in control of myself and no one is going to make me insignificant. I am going to make a difference in the world. Whether it is making a beautiful baby just for me, and for the joy of helping someone else live, or saving the rainforests and stopping global warming. When I die, someone is gunna God damn well remember my name.

After all there are some people at least that would miss me a little if I ended, my saviors, my friends. What are friends for if not to keep you from committing suicide.

Sometimes I want to blame my parents for restricting my breathing, for forcing me into solitude. But I realize that without the shit I have been through I wouldn’t be the twisted girl I am, and whether you think that is a good thing or a bad thing is your decision. Myself I rather like holding conversations in my head, it gives it a sort of privacy that is impossible to take away.

My senior pictures will be hard to face, the smiling girl that is no longer me, but then there is a certain boy that thinks my smile is fantastic, maybe he will get a senior picture from me when I get the prints. I never knew consciously that there is such an abundance of hero’s on this planet. I think God made us all to be hero’s and some where along the way accidents occurred and some of us lost the way, but some made it and are living the dream, mostly quietly slipping flowers into your house, or whispering encouragement over a stolen phone connection late at night. Life is not meant to be regretted, its meant to be lived and loved and shared with others. Death and rebirth are all interconnected all tied together in one revelry that is filled with a mixture of pain and love, a big mass of emotion that makes us dead and alive in the first place. Death is just part of the healing process in a long road to the future.