Is getting the help that one needs but a fallacy created by those helping to provide a false sense of hope? Or am I just beyond repair? How am I still falling short of everyone’s expectations and hopes? How does everyone seem to improve but me? And of all things to do, I break, like glass when it is needed most. I am the mechanism that’s required purpose of itself is to hold together when it feels it has to, but falls short of even that.
I felt like I had shattered. That the storm that hath been brewing throughout the extent of one’s enduring heartbeat has come forth, and raged into the room in which one stands. That the winds had been taken from my sails, and inflating them once again with a blinding fury. Ridiculous I know, but terrifying. Like there is a monster that lives in one’s mind, destroying it from the inside out.
Did I even fall short of what I thought I had succeeded in? The caretaking I thought I so well exceeded the call of personal duty, was but a useless pawn in a giant’s game. And beyond that, do I even make a difference? If I am not tirelessly working at all hours, am I worth even the words in which I write?
This… cloud of some sort, this spirit. Not just any cloud, but The Cloud I choose to call it. The looming sadness, or in some cases regret, that continues to follow everywhere I go. It droops flowers, and rains so effortlessly upon the sparks of joy that stem from my soul, like the peonies of wealth from Keats’ Ode on Melancholy
O cloud, why do you forsake me so? Why must you cause the uprise of emotions within me that best lay hidden in the deep reaches of my soul. You provoke the monster that lies within my mind. And you do not only harm it, but you harm me! You redden my already wretched state of being into a living hell. I wake up every morning in a douse of rain, because all you must do is rain, rain, rain.
As I think of you cloud, I become angry. But, long ago I swore off anger, for all it is, is a waste of time, as are all emotions but a calm acceptance. And so, I go on dealing with your prolonged melancholy, and your constant mockery of what I have to go through every day.
Even when you may go away for a bit, letting the forsaken sun shine through, you and I know it isn’t real. It is but a synthetic facade of emotion, collapsing me further into your infernal abyss.
I hope that one day, I accept you Cloud, as I did before. But for now, I will continue this forsaken fight. And to think I enjoy other clouds, and rain as well. You continue to scum their name every day.
From the ever-growing laments of myself