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penelopie wilson

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translations

i have so much to say, but can’t seem to say anything. i find myself writing letters and entries in my head all day long…and yet, can’t seem to find a way to place them on paper. it’s almost as if someone is choking me. keeping me silent. confined to just myself.

but who would have their hands around my neck? whose fingers would be digging into my throat, cutting off the very air i’m so desperately trying to breathe? me. it’s me.

i’m the one who is choking the life out of me. i’m the one who clasps her hand over my own mouth. i’m the one who won’t allow my voice to be heard.

when i try to speak i find myself, not so gently, reminding me that no good ever comes from me opening my mouth. no good comes when i put my pen to the paper. no good comes when i scream out loud.

no one hears me.

it’s nothing but a wasted effort. it’s time spent on foolishness. it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.

no one hears me.

no one sees me, either. i am invisible. i am nothing.

i find myself wondering, quite often lately, why i am fighting my natural urge so hard. why fight to stay alive in a world where i am neither seen, nor heard? why bother? it’s a tedious task. a tedious task that offers no reward.

there is no reward for living. your reward comes after death.

so…why fight fate? it is my destiny to die. it matters not how or when. so…why work so hard to stay alive and live a life i never wanted in the first place? more-so, why fight for a life that no one else will miss when it is gone? if i’m not staying here for me, then who? and why? why endure this misery?

i matter to no one. i certainly do not matter to myself. and, if life is just a means to an end…then, let’s end it and be done. i don’t understand why i am still here. other than the fact that sober me is a giant coward.

someone taunted me the other day. sarcastically, hatefully. in their heart, in their soul, i fear it is dark and black. they taunted me, when i was low. i find that that was a dick thing to do…and will probably prove to be a mistake in the end. not a mistake because i will enact revenge or harm against them. that is not my style. i do not wish to physically, or emotionally, harm anyone. i am a pacifist. but, if my life plays out the way i envision…i would expect a certain amount of regret to occur within this person. if there is any humane quality in them.

i must admit that when i am taunted…it awakens a beast inside. a beast of fury. my rage is always directed inward…and generally i try to keep a lid on it. it’s an ugly monster. an animal, of sorts, capable of impulse actions that a calm and collected me would think twice about. for example: if this person who taunted me would have handed me a gun as they were spewing their disgust and contempt…the awakened beast inside would have obliged them. taken that gun, immediately turned it on myself…and that would be the end.

a large part of me wishes that would have been the case.

it’s exhausting, this constant internal battle. even when i finally made a decision the other day…it’s still exhausting. knowing is not easier than the unknown, in certain situations.

i want to write him. i want to see him. i want to talk to him. but…i don’t. i’m nothing more than a nuisance and, therefore, need to leave him be. but, the desire is still there. the desire for my friend.

it would be nice to be wrapped up in a hug and held for a bit. it would be nice to be able to breathe. and…if things work out the way i fear…it would be nice to get to say goodbye in person.

in a fantasy world, it would be nice to just run away with him for about a week. a week…to say goodbye.

i’m tired of fighting fate…

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