Days Like This

On days like this, I feel like sitting in the closet with a bottle of wine. In the dark. Alone.

On days like this, I feel like running away. Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere I can forget, forget everything and everyone and just exist.

On days like this, I want to write. I want to write everything, cut open my soul and let it all just bleed out until there is nothing left and the pages are stained with the blood of my story and myself. Then maybe it wouldn't hurt anymore.

No, it doesn't hurt everyday. It doesn't hurt everyday because I say it doesn't. Mind over matter. If I say it isn't there, it makes it go away. Yes, it does come back and haunt me now and then. But I can always make it go away again. And again.

I really don't have time to feel like this.

On days like this, I don't want to be me. I don't want to be anyone. And if I could, I would let myself melt into the floor and disappear. Cease to exist.

On days like this, I think of my dad's favorite movie - It's A Wonderful Life. That movie paints a dismal picture of what it would be like, all the ways it would be worse, if one man had never been born. But I think there is another side to that coin. I think there's a happier side to that story. What about the people that man might have hurt in his life? What about the hurt that was done to him? Perhaps there is pain that could have been avoided.

So I write. I don't write about me, but I do write about me. I don't cut open my soul and make a huge gaping wound that lets everything fall out all over the place, but I make little scratches on the surface. I let that tiny ribbon of me weave it's way in and out of whatever stories my imagination might let go. And for now, it will suffice. But sometimes? It feels like it's not enough.

On days like this, I need a bigger release. I need to break free.