My body is frail. To think that I can handle this is a highly inaccurate assumption based on nothing but blind optimism. I write the same things over and over again because it is my only temporary remedy, but even I am getting tired of reading the same words. If only someone can pull the plug on my mind and let my body rest. Thoughts are everywhere — everywhere I look I see a set of old eyes mocking me.
“It’s just a voice.”
But, I don’t want to give it a life. It already came a long way, asking me questions about names it’s not familiar with; names that bring my heartbeat to a halt. How do I convince myself that I’m well when this voice — that’s nothing but a voice — keeps me from sleeping at night?
It’s a whisper — a cruel whisper that carries burdens I’ve managed to bury deep within me. Under layers of skin, it speaks.
What does it want for me?
“Hello… Why are you afraid?”
I kick off my sheets. I need to move. I pace back and forth hoping I can escape, but with every turn I take, it greets me: “Hello.” I can feel it smile. How can a voice smile so devilishly?
I reach one end of the room then take a sharp turn to the other.
“I’m still here.” Go away… please go away.
“Why won’t you speak to me?”
“I’m just a voice.” I don’t stop moving because if I stop, it’ll take a hold of me. I know this voice. I’ve grown familiar with this voice. It’s everything I’ve been repressing, chasing me and I’m not ready to face any of it.
I know because when everything is okay it comes creeping.
“Remember this,” but I don’t want to remember.
This pain is gone. I’ve walked away.
“But, are you ready to forget?”
Oh, why do you have to burden me? Why do I long to lay down and die a slow death empty of words? Can someone make me feel better for a day… I need an escape.