Tired

"..and I don't know,
this could break my heart or save me,
nothing's real,
until you let go completely
so here I go,
with all my thoughts I've been saving,
so here I go,
with all my fears weighing on me.."

Dear lonely isle,

You know how some mornings you wake up and find that the world looks grey?
That the colours weren't as beautiful as they used to be?
You know how some mornings the sun is so bright, it's too bright?
It hurts your eyes.

Some days you just feel it.

On some days I realise that I'm a lot happier when I used to be a lot heavier.
Now when I feel better about myself, I find I seldom feel good at all.
I'm seldom happy, and I feel more lonely than ever.
Sometimes I wonder if happiness means having to feel like a whale all the time.
And to not like how you look in the mirror.

Some days I wonder about the plastic water scoop in the bathroom.
Even though I emptied all the air, it still floats.
And I wonder, why sometimes when we feel as though we are all but spent, drained completely, empty. Hollow. Void.
We still float. We still try.

I find it ironic that you can not know what you want, but yet be very clear on what you do not want.

I find it sad that we often search the most for that which eludes us.

Sometimes I think it's just unfair that we search so long to find what we really want, only to have it taken from us. Waved in our face to remind us of what we have but yet do not possess.

Sometimes I think the saddest thing is to watch what we build crumble slowly in front of our eyes, to watch it being taken apart bit by bit, painstakingly and lovingly built bonds weakened and torn down, like a frame by frame documentary of the demolition of a building that took generations to build.

Sometimes I feel like an empty shell of the person I've once been.
With nothing left but echoing memories and dust in the corners of my heart.
With sunken eyes and dark circles that tell of haunted nights and sad days.
Sometimes I feel like everything is just getting too hard.

I'd like to think that things will get better in time, but I think I know better.
Because some things don't get better, they get worse.
And just when you think that the turning point is right about now, you often get surprised.
Because that's just the way it is.

Sometimes I wonder where do the happy days end and when does today begin, but I can't find the line of transition.

You know how you make yourself think of mundane thoughts at night because you don't want to cry anymore?
I find that I can't be honest with my feelings because all they lead to are puffy eyes in the morning.
And sleeping with wads of tissue paper and a half-used roll beside your pillow.

These days I feel myself building walls around my heart.
Laying down a brick every night, slowly erecting wall after wall of solitude around the gaping pump.
Just trying to protect it from hurting anymore.

love, Joyce.