Down the Rabbit Hole

How could a person feel so isolated?

So out of place yet you take in the same gasp for air, for life. Run the same blood through your veins and arteries, God says he created us all equally like brothers and sisters

Yet some of us are just ripples in the water of this enormous ocean and all of a sudden we’ve just become irrelevant. Unappreciated. Ignored. “Worthless”. Discriminated. Brought down. When was the day where we suddenly just didn’t matter anymore? What made our sights and sounds, our thoughts and our hearts all that insignificant? Are the black holes, raging pencil marks on paper, shattered glass that roams our minds really our fault?

Are we not appreciative of the world or is the world not appreciative of us? As we sit allusive to the world around us, wondering all these questions and where we fit in. This life is a giant puzzle and that one puzzle piece has suddenly been taken; ripped in half, peeled at the seams, dipped into the water in a slow and painful float down the abyss where no one will ever remember it. Some try to fix it, with unintentional promises of faith and companionship and kindness—but that is only in the moment.

It's as if there are only single moments of happiness rather than a giant timeline of happy memories in our eyes. We hold on to those single moments like coats in wind, knowing that eventually the storm will roll around, destroying again and again all the strength we have tried to rebuild. But it's i n e v i t a b l e. Like there’s no hope in trying to hold on to those moments because they are never guaranteed to last. The wind's too strong, the fog too unclear, always throwing you into a state of confusion and feeling lost in everything you’ve ever come to know.

Does this happen to all of us? Is it normal to always encounter that raincloud above your head on a rainy day? We live in a world of the blissful and the dreadful. Those who live their lives in ignorance of all life’s realizations, who reconcile together without all the snapping scissors and razor cuts in their minds. Then there are those who constantly feel the burn in their blood, the sudden pressure of 10,000 feet above ground consuming their brains, the question of when the world will suddenly decide to give their life a meaning.

A label they can take on as their own and cherish with every hope of making something good out of it; to be proud of. Does this day exist? Or is it just like unicorns, dragons, the lochness monster; something our thoughts conceive so often that it seems possible yet in reality, those conceived thoughts are not enough. Live your days counting the weeks, the days, the hours, even the minutes; dreading its continuous cycle of unchanging events continuing to count until time just stops. Feel like you’re living half there. The half that listens, obeys, takes direction, continues to breathe air, continues to have a beating heart, continues to do what we’re supposed to do but that other half; the one that can be something, express feelings and opinions, contribute to the world, take matters into their hands like rolled up clay, be a real person— is lost. Lost in another dimension of what if’s and how comes, a world of questions, solidarity, and lost time.

Is the fact of living supposed to feel like everyday you’re slowly dying? That time has an endpoint and were torturously watching the seconds pass? Like everything we’ve ever tried to give the world—just wasn’t good enough? Who knew there were such high expectations, such rules and regulations just to stand on the earth and say “I AM HUMAN” Who knew every thought, every gesture, every move was in a camera lens eye of judgement of humiliation in being who you chose. If those times new roman lines of fine print had been laid out to me before deciding my fate, I’m not too sure I would have signed at the bottom.

Does simply being get any easier or will it infinitely be this on and off up and down reciting of excruciating pain. Not the pain of your first broken bone or tooth pulled out with blood flowing at the incision— but a pain much worse than that. a pain that cannot be so easily healed in a short matter of time. A mental strain that can feel so physical it makes you ill. Causes you to lose all sense of motion, consume you whole like the prey you’ve suddenly become.

Lose all sense of yourself and what you even want because every time you set your eye on something it's suddenly impossible to pertain. There are many of us but the twisted irony of it all is that even though we physically know we are not alone, we will always feel as though we are; on an island of shades of black. lost in all the colorless array that all we can stand is closing our eyes and dreaming of pinks and yellows that our eyes can only see in our deepest fantasies—or maybe that’s just me.