Sometimes when I’m feeling ignored or forgotten or small - no, not small; I am never allowed to feel small in any physical sense - or, I should say, when I’m feeling unimportant, I long for nothing more than the ability to go home. Well, more than the ability to go home. I long for the ability to revert to childhood, to some state of innocence. Well, not innocence, exactly, but some infantile state where life is much, much easier and I have absolutely no responsibilities and all my needs are taken care of by someone else. Really, honestly, truthfully, when I am feeling overlooked and overwhelmed by daily life, that is when, more than anything, I long to sit on my parents’ bed, as still as a statue, while my mother brushes my hair. Endlessly, ceaselessly, forever. And maybe if I sit completely still, not moving a muscle, not batting a lash, as my mother brushes and brushes and brushes my hair, then maybe, just maybe, I will become a doll. A little porcelain doll that my mother will care for until the end of her days. A tiny porcelain doll that has no wants or needs or feelings or impulses. Merely a little doll that is loved unconditionally because it never says or does the wrong thing. It only sits and sits and, occasionally, lies down, waiting for someone to hold her or dress her or fix her bow - all without a thought or a worry in her head. She never has to question a thing because she will always be loved...which is all I long for in life: to silence the voices in my head; to feel as if I’m loved unconditionally; to feel as if my life isn’t one big test that I am constantly failing. I want some stability in my life. I want someone who I can count on. I, I, I. Me, me, me. Selfish and childish and terrible and afraid. All disgusting, repulsive emotions that I would be able to no longer experiencing if only I could find a way to transform into an inanimate object.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Day Four - This One's for Beckett
I've been reading a lot of Beckett's short stories as of late. Hence, here is a nod to the master of all things bleak and hypnotizing.
Until then, I will continue sitting here, on my parents’ bed, barely breathing, never moving, hoping that somehow the world will go away, that things will get better, that my mother will find me and begin brushing my shiny, acrylic hair and then, everything will be better. Even if it’s only for a single second, everything will be okay because I will be utterly numb, devoid of human spark, utterly disconnected from the world around me