There is going to be a time - probably that one lonely night - when all that's gone wrong with your life will come and haunt you dead. It'll all come back to you, playing out like a motion picture before your mind's eyes. All the things you've done wrong. All the wrong people you've been with. All those hurtful things people have done to you. All the problems that plague your wellbeing, crush your inner self and keep you awake nights. And in that moment, all the good things and better times would cease to matter.
You'll be sleep paralysed, your hands and legs immobile, while your own personal demons devour your peace of mind. The things that go on in the back of your head which you know you can't say out loud for fear. Fear they'll not understand you. Worse, they will not hear what you say. What you really want to say. They'll walk right past you. Tell you it's all happened to them too. It happens to everyone. You're no different. They'll tell you you're just paranoid. It'll pass.
Only, you know it won't. Some things don't change, no matter how many days or months or years go by. They remain the same. But some things do change. They get worse with time. They're like a fork held against your spine. With each blow, it digs deeper, pierces your flesh a little farther. Red fluid oozes out. But you don't cry out. You bear the pain like a brave soldier. But that won't do. Life will keep poking and piercing you with a fork till you cry out. Loud.
There are things people do to you that they don't understand. They affect you in ways that change you from the inside out. They remind you everyday of how utterly wrong things can go in life, and how, somehow, it was all meant to happen to you in one little lifetime. The world wants to show you all it has got. Oh, so you're the chosen one! But you don't cry out loud. Why? Why do you cower, burn inside, but not tell? Probably because you're a coward. You avoid conflict. You avoid 'talks'. You'd much rather sit in a corner, pretend to read a book and secretly mope. You'll muffle your sobs with the blanket at night so the one sleeping next to you won't hear. You want to be heard. But you won't reach out. Because they don't see the real you. They see what they want to see. And you cater to their needs. Because you don't think it is worth the effort to tell them you're different.
Your friends will try to be there for you, with you. Your friends love you, don't they? But they don't understand you. [Do you understand yourself? Who are you?] They say they are there for you. That they love you. But do you love them? [Who do you love? Do you love at all? Is there any such things as love?] You have no love inside of you to give. Who are the people you call your friends? Who are the people they say are your family? Would they know if you were dying inside every single day? Wouldn't they see through your mask? They're your family and friends after all. They're supposed to look at you and not see through you like you were a wraith. They're supposed to be a part of you. A part that's not as dysfunctional as the rest of you is. But are they there?
You're afraid to talk. You can have entire conversations inside your head. You are your own friend and your own therapist. But you fear talking in the real world. You avoid phone calls and messages. Maybe you don't want to talk for a while. Maybe for a while you don't need someone else to tell you things you console yourself with all the time. You're in limbo that you can't get out of. It's like a state of sleep paralysis that won't end. But you want it to end. Only you can't figure out how.
What do you do when ugly pictures of your life haunt you night and day and suck the soul out of you? But if only there were such a self-help guide available. You could watch a movie, write a blog, try sleeping with your eyes open or take a long walk. But you cannot erase things embedded in your memory. All you can do then is make it through the night somehow and start again the next morning, with a brand new mask to hide that vacant expression and those puffy eyes. You can mope for a night, maybe two, but you cannot stop time. If you cannot make things any better, you'd rather get on with life the way it is. Make peace with reality if you will. Because reality isn't always beautiful, and you cannot always be hopeful. But life has to go on.