A Mad Migraine
Horrifying is the sight of myself in the mirror, I am fake in every way to forget the pain.
Pretending to be alright, to be static at the adversity and smiling to the present.
It is insignificant to even consider these feelings, but the dopamine in the brain seems to be scarce. This pain makes me think that maybe the glucose intake is not enough to produce the energy for me to run.
I am a coward with wings of a phoenix, pretending to arise when fallen, but the truth is that I am still chained to a pitiful hole. My poor vision is blurry as it is, but from time to time in days like these…I remember who I am and the blurriness becomes dizziness in a frozen ocean of tiny salty drops.
Intoxicated in the eco of silence becoming familiar with darkness, time freezes and I am able to stop the synapses in my brain. My neurons no longer control my body and it becomes a mystery on how I can perceive the ache of my existence. Memories need to be forgotten, and in vain I try to isolate them. It is stupid and ridiculous as to the reason to even attempt it.
My awareness comes back after hitting the coldness of water; the touch is delicate, intense and effective for it penetrates my senses. Temporary it is, for the numbness comes back since it is cue that magic pills are working in my empty body. It is unusual to not feel and be hurt, scratching the first layer of skin of the mask, forgetting the label which was given at my birth and ignoring the universe for seconds it is my temporary peace.
I wanted to become clean but the nausea in my body narrates a different story. Is this guiltiness? Or is this just another sign of my brain to give up for tonight? Either way, I should just give up myself to the darkness, to embrace Morpheus in a desperate effort to kill loneliness, and to bury you and me in a coffin that should never be opened. Your presence that remains in my comatose state can’t be hurt, love or hate. I am well conscious that I played the role I had to perform in my own comedy, but I still can’t smile at the joke. The dreams I had, the hopes, my faith, and the wishes have been capsulated in a Pandora box… a sinful bliss that I can no longer afford to even have a glance in my dreams. Bittersweet torture I desire to depart from you, to detach my consciousness, to leave you behind and continue my resolution to remain a doll. The doll whose smile remains painted, the body that remains unmoved, and the stoic heart that can’t feel the tender touch of your sadistic words.
I am broken, and what am I hoping? Is it to disappear or to embark into a voyage of illusions? I no longer know myself.
Giovanna H.
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