Entry Number 36: Autopilot

Most days I wake up and my autopilot takes over. When it doesn't it's hard to get out of bed. I feel numb, and rainy days feel familiar. When it's sunny out, I feel almost hopeless because it doesn't reflect how I feel. Like the beauty of the day is taunting me with what I can't have. Effortless joy.

I used to believe that happiness was a choice. How ridiculous that sounds echoing around in my head just before it is lost in the chatter. It's true that all we can control is our attitude, but putting on the mask is far from authentic happiness.

I realized years ago that true happiness would always be out of my reach. Like the way I've kept God at an arms length my entire life. Realization is just the cruel irony solidifying my greatest fear. And yet there is a sweet serenity in the smallest piece of certainty gained in the absolution. Maybe instead of being punished for something terrible I must have done along the way, I was just never meant to find happiness from the beginning.

Joy water falling from cupped hands. Lasting long enough to wet my lips, but never enough to quench my thirst. It's feeling cheated; not enough time, or energy, or just not enough of myself to give before my senses dull once again. The climb to the top of the bell curve is steep, thus leading to the inevitable rapid decline of simply feeling alive; back to my normal, feeling comfortably numb. Relinquishing control to my autopilot. Just doing my best to keep in step, tow the line, and not melt into a puddle of despair.

I've become a cliche, looking for love and happiness in all the wrong places. Never truly finding it within myself; for myself. Busying myself and spending my energy on others until there is none left for myself. Doing whatever it takes to wear myself out and quiet the chatter; lower the noise to a dull roar, slow the thoughts of my fatigued mind. Making it through the day until my eyes are simply to tired to stay open and and the chatter is drowned out by pure exhaustion. All for a few precious hours until the sound of my alarm alerts my pilot to the dawn of a new day. An endless cycle of just making it through another day undetected. Entering the pool of my existence making as few ripples as possible as to not alert others to what is hidden behind the mask.

Entry Number 35: Said the Morning Star

Two years, almost to the day, in making. My voice lost to the chatter.

I think, maybe, I've always been broken.. I've just learned how to remain numb. Always managed to keep my darkness hidden; Never let it out, not entirely. The risk of becoming lost in it is too great.

None of my usual outlets have been working. No longer floating down the stream, I have been dumped into a pond and stuck. Stranded in the standing water of a stagnant pool. No escape. Not until I clear the muddle. Until I have become drunk on the clarity.

Few have an idea of what I keep buried. Fewer still have caught a glimpse of my darkness. You told me I only let the vail fall on occasion; called my darkness gorgeous and the reason you fell in love with me. You, the morning star.

I don't think I could let it go completely anyway. The damage is done. But I don't have to tell you that. Wearing a mask is just easier, albeit exhausting. It has the potential to destroy everything good. I've sabotaged myself over and over my entire life. It's an endless cycle to keep others from seeing my true colors.

I've noticed I'm started to fall back into old habits. They're creeping in, like images out of focus. Fuzzy in the peripheral field. Propelled by internal forces; unaffected by my consciousness. Outside the control of free will.. it's like slowly slipping. Losing my footing. Unmotivated to oppose it, but unable to even if I wanted to.

Its like a double edged sword; inviting the desensitization to dull the nerves, to stop the racing thoughts. Once the autopilot kicks in, falling into step is easy as a creature of habit. But the colors aren't as bright, and my body and mind becomes numb. I am nothing more than a leaf floating on the surface of a stagnant pond. Without emotion or purpose. Repitition becomes my safety net. Retreating down into the pit of my despair; tucked away in the confines of my mind.





So Says the Morning Star

So says the Morning Star, "where is your darkness?

Why do you struggle to keep it buried deep inside?

As a part of you, it harbors its own beauty,

Waiting for its match to come along and find."

So says the Morning Star, "wear it as your armor,

Not hidden behind your great wall made of stone.

For when its kindred spirit does come calling,

You'll forfeit blessings meant for you and you alone."

So says the Morning Star "I've loved you all these years, dear one,

Your presence will forever call from miles away.

But you must stop running from what lives inside you,

Unless balance is found, your soul is what you'll pay.