Watching each day pass by, exactly like the one before it, and the one after.. has become a hell without end for me.
I can't breathe from the weight of my past lives weighing down around my neck like some demented albatross.
Everywhere I look, it is as though I am staring at grave markers.
The people I was once so happy to see alive, and happy, and smiling.. now a jarring reminder of the life that I had with them, Before.
The prices I paid to stave off apocalyptia for the rest of those I know have become my jail sentence. My crosses to bear, quietly. Sober, even.
I found recently that nothing truly dulls the pain.
Distracts from it, gives you a temporary escape. But it's always right there, waiting in the wings for it's cue to swoop back in. Winds up being a waste of resources to even attempt avoiding it.
I look in the mirror and I wonder who in the fuck I am looking at. A half grown out haircut in a haircolor I abhor, most of my jewelry missing or abandoned in an attempt to blend in. To the point I don't even think to wear these symbols at home that once mattered so.
Painfilled eyes, dramatically emphasized with kohl. Or, was. Now a drawn, weary face battling tears. Weighted down by bags under my eyes that, if they were luggage, could outfit a family of four for a year.
Tattered, old, mended clothing. I still have the niceties, of course, but I don't care to wear them. The line of work I'm in, your duds tend to get destroyed pretty quickly.
So many temporary reasons to blend in that gradually.. became permanent. As did the despair that comes with them.
Hands gripping the porcelain countertop to my sink, I bow my head and begin to cry. No dramatics of a punched out mirror, would simply create a mess to clean later, and a pain in my hands that wouldn't heal for weeks. Not to mention the pain in the ass that digging out mirror shards from your flesh can be.
I fumblingly flip the switch for the lights and stagger my way to my bedroom. Or, at least the charade that passes for one these days. Glorified storage unit, for as much as I use it, kept so that I can at least.. pretend for a bit that I have a place to call home.
Nothing has felt like home since Sanctuary burned.
I drag a sheet from the surface of my bed and stumble my way to the living room, half blind from my own tears. I let my weight fall to the couch, and wrap up in the sheet. I know better than to pray for sleep, but just for a while, even the simulation of touch is enough to be of comfort.
Once upon a time, I had grown used to the feeling of a shared bed. Those I loved next to me, getting to hold them at night. Apparently I grew so used to their company over the years that I can no longer physically sleep in a bed alone. Not even mine.
And believe me, I've tried.
I curl into a half-assed fetal position and wipe the tears from my face in frustration. As I struggle to catch my breath between the sobs, I begin to wish and pray and hope.
'Please, please. Don't let all of this have been in vain.'
'Please, just let me have someone to love again.'
'Let this work. Please. I want to be able to have a family again that is safe from all this evil shit.'
'If nothing else, please. Show me some kind of sign on what I should do next. I'm lost, and alone, and I'm not sure I can keep this up anymore.'
'I don't know if I'm strong enough to be Jack of All anymore.'
My breathing slowly calms, and I blurrily glance at the illumination of my phone.
"One Missed Call From Ares"
"You have 3 Unread Text Messages from Cassiel"
"Jack, log in to see what your friends have been up to!"
With a grimace, I hold down the power button to my phone until the option to turn it off displays. With a click, and only a moment of hesitation, I shut it down.
Replying as I feel now would only worry or irritate them. Sleep, maybe, will help.
And if not, well. It isn't the end of the world.. right?
I can't breathe from the weight of my past lives weighing down around my neck like some demented albatross.
Everywhere I look, it is as though I am staring at grave markers.
The people I was once so happy to see alive, and happy, and smiling.. now a jarring reminder of the life that I had with them, Before.
The prices I paid to stave off apocalyptia for the rest of those I know have become my jail sentence. My crosses to bear, quietly. Sober, even.
I found recently that nothing truly dulls the pain.
Distracts from it, gives you a temporary escape. But it's always right there, waiting in the wings for it's cue to swoop back in. Winds up being a waste of resources to even attempt avoiding it.
I look in the mirror and I wonder who in the fuck I am looking at. A half grown out haircut in a haircolor I abhor, most of my jewelry missing or abandoned in an attempt to blend in. To the point I don't even think to wear these symbols at home that once mattered so.
Painfilled eyes, dramatically emphasized with kohl. Or, was. Now a drawn, weary face battling tears. Weighted down by bags under my eyes that, if they were luggage, could outfit a family of four for a year.
Tattered, old, mended clothing. I still have the niceties, of course, but I don't care to wear them. The line of work I'm in, your duds tend to get destroyed pretty quickly.
So many temporary reasons to blend in that gradually.. became permanent. As did the despair that comes with them.
Hands gripping the porcelain countertop to my sink, I bow my head and begin to cry. No dramatics of a punched out mirror, would simply create a mess to clean later, and a pain in my hands that wouldn't heal for weeks. Not to mention the pain in the ass that digging out mirror shards from your flesh can be.
I fumblingly flip the switch for the lights and stagger my way to my bedroom. Or, at least the charade that passes for one these days. Glorified storage unit, for as much as I use it, kept so that I can at least.. pretend for a bit that I have a place to call home.
Nothing has felt like home since Sanctuary burned.
I drag a sheet from the surface of my bed and stumble my way to the living room, half blind from my own tears. I let my weight fall to the couch, and wrap up in the sheet. I know better than to pray for sleep, but just for a while, even the simulation of touch is enough to be of comfort.
Once upon a time, I had grown used to the feeling of a shared bed. Those I loved next to me, getting to hold them at night. Apparently I grew so used to their company over the years that I can no longer physically sleep in a bed alone. Not even mine.
And believe me, I've tried.
I curl into a half-assed fetal position and wipe the tears from my face in frustration. As I struggle to catch my breath between the sobs, I begin to wish and pray and hope.
'Please, please. Don't let all of this have been in vain.'
'Please, just let me have someone to love again.'
'Let this work. Please. I want to be able to have a family again that is safe from all this evil shit.'
'If nothing else, please. Show me some kind of sign on what I should do next. I'm lost, and alone, and I'm not sure I can keep this up anymore.'
'I don't know if I'm strong enough to be Jack of All anymore.'
My breathing slowly calms, and I blurrily glance at the illumination of my phone.
"One Missed Call From Ares"
"You have 3 Unread Text Messages from Cassiel"
"Jack, log in to see what your friends have been up to!"
With a grimace, I hold down the power button to my phone until the option to turn it off displays. With a click, and only a moment of hesitation, I shut it down.
Replying as I feel now would only worry or irritate them. Sleep, maybe, will help.
And if not, well. It isn't the end of the world.. right?
