Pestilence

That's all I feel like I am to her. Sometimes, that all I feel like she is to me. Poison. But then, it changes. Suddenly, you're the remedy and I'm the antidote. We become healers and the room lights up with laughter. Then, it fades. It goes back to that looming darkness full of unnecessary resentment. Then, I take a look around and it's not only her. It's them. The people in the streets that laugh at my jokes and call me their friends. They've now become the enemy. If not the enemy, than a bully. A person to look down upon you with such disdain and arrogance. There's one. A bit older with charm and elegance but is swift with manipulation and power. Her ability to control the power and will of a diligent human being. The snark remarks bite into the skin of this friend. The friend that will tell you like it is. The 'is' that taunts and damages and releases the reality of which you do not wish to see.

Why is it that reality has such an ugly mark? The reality is that not everything is as it seems, and what seems is not. They gather truths of the people around you, trying to bring sense into your life and moments; those people we have pushed away. We push away what 'is'. Instead, we focus on what isn't. We focus on what we don't have and the places we won't go. The moment's we should have done this but did that. Memories of my past haunt me like a plague, some nights. They terrorize my closed eyes with moments that will never be repeated, with people that will never be who they once were. Those friends that are now foes and those foes that are now no one.

Is that all we become? This shattering memory of a passer by with a once pleasant word? Well, I am not a novel. I don't want to be a part of those moments that are written down and remembered. I want to be a part of the now. The present time that holds you by your throat and makes your stomach turn. The present time that makes you feel like your heart may fly away with the sound of it's own fluttering. We as the people of persons deserve to be the light that help those dark nights, the opening shelter to those setting themselves free from their own prisons. But here we are. Cell mates. And I too feel the rage. I too feel the burning and pain in my chest when someone I love, someone I have helped multiple times, says "She's fine".

And this may sound selfish and petulant, but I am tired of being the one who's "fine" all the time whilst everyone else is breaking down. I am sick of being the wall that everyone leans on. The shoulder, yes. I will support the padding and nurture you need. But I am tired of feeling unimportant and used.

I'm just tired.