The Feeling...

As of late, I have been feeling as if I am short of breath. My mom claims it has something to do with my allergies, or the fact that I had pneumonia once as a child. She feels that I may be experiencing symptoms of asthma.

I know it's not asthma. It is something far more painful than any physical ailment, any amount of thick, gooey phlegm caught in my throat or any bloody, lightning strike sinus headache. There are experiences in our lives that cannot simply be chalked up to "being sick" in the common sense of the phrase. I know it's not asthma. I am feeling something that wraps its bony hands powerfully around my neck and squeezes with all its might to assure that I am left without breath, while at the same time sucking the air from within my lungs. This is my feeling of an isolated existence; my fancy, and probably unnecessarily lengthy, way of saying I'm lonely.

I've become so afraid of the future, of the things I think I know, that I have begun to push myself into a deep darkness of hysteria. I wish so strongly not to be myself, and to have the power to change it all.

Everything is a blur; from the instant I wake up, fresh drool on my cheek, and the smell of air freshener being beaten out only by my morning breath, until the moment I drift into what I hope becomes a blissful slumber - a blur. There I lay in bed, as the world I experienced for the day shifts in my brain to create a dilemma of dramas and romances, of comedy and horror, only to be awaken by the shrill beep of my alarm, unready to do it all over again.
Everything is an ugly blur.

I plead with myself to escape these emotions, and most of the time, it is a success. I am free from the pain when I am with certain friends, but even then I am sure to keep the atmosphere perfect. I refuse to let it change for I fear nothing more than rupturing that which lets me feel more normal.

My fraudulence is what makes it so difficult for me to connect anymore. If I cannot be true with myself, how can I ever suppose to be true with someone else? The people around me are not so ignorant that they do not notice I am not whole, that I am not always sincere. They have to know that I loom with suffering and my only attempt to escape is to have acceptance. It is why I fear ruining what I perceive as the balance during a conversation, or a small get together.

By trying so hard to be accepted, I am slowly forcing myself away from what I desire most. But as I wrote in a small, leather bound notebook: "The feeling of desiring something too much, resembles that of a heart pumping too much blood. The warmth felt within is actually a warning, an overlooked sign that points vividly in one direction. One dark, endless direction."

My apologies for not posting something positive and reassuring. It's difficult to create a world that I cannot live.