The Third

 

Dear Whoever May get This First;

 

I like waking up early in the mornings, before anyone else, wrapping up in a blanket or my bathrobe, fixing a cup of coffee [with 1 teaspoon of sugar and a bit of milk] and sitting in front of my computer. I take a sip of coffee and go straight to itunes and put on music [mind you, it doesn't get loud until I'm home alone though]. Then, I go to my writing folder and I either pick something to work on or begin something new. I haven't had any inspiration lately, so I figured I'd write about that...though it seems to be 2:10 in the afternoon. [I slept in...got up at ten something and began watching music videos].

 

My inspiration seems to be short in it's coming...partially because I'm so caught up in what isn't happening...and because I'm fixated on issues in the home life...

 

I seem to be living a nightmare. Not because of problems or other people, but because I force it on myself. I put my self in my own hellish world and chain myself there. Right now, I am trying to loosen my hold over myself there and work my way back to the surface. I think this is an issue in itself. I've been trying to go for help [not professional help, but just find the right person to talk to about it] and so far, that reaching out has gotten me nowhere. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough, or I just don't really want it...I'm not quite sure which...

 

I guess writing this out makes me histrionic in a odd sort of way because I am making a big thing over this nothing I've formed into an issue and because by writing this, I am sort of seeking attention. And that is something I've tried never to do, so...I don't talk to people very much...I don't accept their help. I am the one giving help, wiping their tears, giving them a smile to wear, while I suffer in my own silence, jealous over them because they've found help in me and I can't even help myself.

 

Why is that?I don't understand. How can I set myself up like this... Sitting down and taking other people's pain and bandaging their wounds. I take their hand and lead them the way they want to go, help them around the corners and Give them the smile that they've been missing. I'm so glad I can do this for them...I really am, but I'm sick and tired of it being a one way street...

 

I have went to people for help. I tried talking to them...tried telling them my story, but before I get the words out, I get an ear-full of their new aches and the conversation that I pictured is thrown into oblivion and I find myself lending out a helping hand again... So, each time it happened, I began to give up on reaching out, so instead, I'm reaching up. I'm wishing on a star, wishing for my own comfort, my own help.

 

I picked up on new outlets through the years, but as I continue to use them, the results are fading. I no longer find satisfaction in drawing it out, or writing the pain away, or even drowning it out with music. I find bleeding it out useless. Screaming it out painful. Numbing the pain a waste of life. There is nothing. [Oh well...] I guess I tried...

 

But trying isn't enough, is it? No...I wish I could just take everything from the inside an throw it all away. Every day I wish this. Every day, my wish is denied. I want to begin it all again, erase what has been my life for the last 17 years, six months, nineteen days, 11 hours, and 53 minutes. But, will I be able to forget the pains of my past if I restart my life?

 

You know...A year ago, I was counting down the days until I turned 18, became a legal adult, and left my parents. Now with about 6 months to go, I'm not so sure that's what I want. I am already in the area I planned to move to [go figure] and I realize that if I were to leave, I wouldn't be able to live, work, go to school, and do anything I wanted to do. I'd have no time for other people, let alone time for myself, and the probability of me actually going to collage and graduating would be slim to none. Then, my life-long dream of becoming a child-therapist would go down the drain an my life will be exactly what I've feared since I was ten...I'd be a deadbeat dreamer...A homeless loser...or a loser on the verge of losing my home.

 

I guess that realization means I've grown up and matured a lot over the last year...I have began to understand the real cruelty this world has to offer. But, that's not all it has in store, I know. It's going to get harder as the years go on. I'm going to face new difficulties and have tougher decisions to make. And those decisions will be some of the most critical decisions I will ever make for myself. And with that pressure added...I don't know what to do...I have to make one or be stuck in a fictional time warp...

 

I have a while to figure it out though...and I know that people out there somewhere are willing to help me...I just have to find them...And allow them to help me...Do you believe I can do it? ...Do I believe I can?