One Day...

For a day, I felt amazing. The hatred of my own life was gone. The feeling that the world would be better with my death was gone. For one day, I was just me. For that one day, I was fine.

Then the pills went too far. I felt my heart beating so hard I wondered if I might die. At first, I wondered if it was a side effect. I think not. I think that was “me” too. I think that my natural state of being is fear.

Are these my options? A choice between apathetic existence or anxious persistence? Must I suffer regardless of my own will? All I have ever wished is to love and be loved, and yet I am stuck between wishing for death and being denied, or denying death and feeling it close in. Must I be lost in a rage against this foul world? Must I be tortured in this prison of flesh?

Even with the pills, fear is all there is. There is no love. There is no rage. There is no grief. There is no color. I feel that it is better than the overwhelming kaleidoscope of emotions that would make my head spin. Even so, I treasure my rage and grief. They are a part of who I am. They are what keep me connected to others that have long since left me behind.

Can I forget my rage for a friend that committed the greatest transgression imaginable? Can I forget my grief for his victim, a girl I knew but never had a chance to know? Can I leave these blinding images in the past for a new existence? Would I even be able to bear this new existence if I chose it? Would I be myself without those painful bonds? Would I be myself without the pain?

Perhaps the pain will never truly be gone. Even with the dulled point from the medication, I still feel the steely blade. It still hurts. It still makes me bleed. Perhaps I need the dulled sense. Perhaps without the blinding brightness, I can see those colors for what they are. If I am not doubled over in pain, I might be able to touch my emotions in a way I never thought possible. I would not have survived the way I was before. Now, there is a chance.