I will never forget the day you took my entire world and shattered it. The look of cold fire in your eyes told the tale long before your words ever set forth upon the winds of change that were moving in like a hurricane. Instantly, I could feel the daggers in my chest. Before you ever uttered the words of love and Kayla in the same sentence, I knew that I was about to lose my entire world. You'll never understand the pain that I went through in the few days and weeks that followed. There was a physical pain that permeated my chest, sending spikes of ice cold stabs outwards through my entire body. My legs would give out, and my breath would be hard to catch. Late at night, in the dark of the living room, I would unknowingly hold my breath, forgetting to allow the gainful exchange of oxygen and the continuance of life. Gasping, I'd suddenly realize and I'd try to claw my way back onto the surface. In the days that followed you going out of the window, you lead me on to believe that I had a chance in hell of you coming home. You couldn't just come out and say it, you couldn't tell me you moved in with her. You just keep managing me... I can only hope that I find love again one day, that the sun will rise and something amazing will grow out of the ashes of who I now am. This is my forest fire, and oh do I feel so alone. People tell me that the pain will fade in time, except for one friend who told me it stays there, always. You just get better at handling it. I pray that I will be successful, but it would just be so much easier to fail. It's been many weeks and I still cry. I miss you so damn much though I cant for the life of me figure out why. I never was good enough... You may have fallen out of love with me, but I loved you with ever fiber of my being all the way up until the bitter end. Even now, I contain it, but I love you on a level that comes from the purity of a heart that just cant hate. That will likely never change. I can't deny that you seem better. You seem happier. You aren't hiding away avoiding. You look like you care more about yourself than before. And as much as I wish it were me that was having that impact...I am thankful that someone is. You will always be a star in my sky. I'm sorry I put so much on you, though at one time I'd like to believe that I was your world just as much as you were mine. I am sorry I am who I am and that I'm not normal. I wish I had known in advance so as to warn you. I wish you nothing but the best in life. May you find all that you have been dreaming of, and all that I have lacked. Be happy, for you have found life again. ~ Riss

I bet you forgot all about this little corner of the internet. I bet you don't remember that this is where I bare my innermost thoughts. I guess communication went out the window when you got married, or even before that, when you decided you would settle for me because you were too old to find someone more compatible...at least, that's how it feels. It hurts a lot that I seem to get the second best of everything. You tell me all of these stories of how things were and how they used to be. You dangle these things in front of me as if teasing me with things I will never have. It becomes even more apparent when nature won't let me have what I desperately want either, and with time ticking, I fear that this will become the story of my life. All my life I swore things were going to go right for me, but they've gone the opposite. Even my mother danced on her wedding day. Even my mother enjoyed her pregnancy and the early years of me. Even my mother enjoyed some kind of a normal life, at least before she went crazy. At this point, I've pretty much given up on everything. I know I'll never walk down an aisle, or experience the joy of having a family rather than suffering through life. I'll never fly, or own my horse, or live the dreams that still taunt me in my sleep. But maybe one day, you'll find the will to just dance with me. You know, without me having to beg. Maybe.

I can feel myself slipping into that pit again. Isolation, depression, sadness. I can't fend off the tears.

At what point do you stop making things good for everyone else and go after what you really want? At what point does it not matter what you're capable of, but what path you want to take?

Try as I may to hype myself up about the coming changes, it doesn't seem to be working. Everything is falling by the wayside so that I can rightfully give this my all, but it's not because it's what I want to do.

It's because it's what everyone knows I'm capable of doing.

And I have a feeling that by the time I finally slow down in life and stop trying to make everything better and free of trouble, stress, hurt, and pain for everyone else, it will be too late to do anything about me.

*sigh*

Disappointment. I guess it's just something I have to get used to. So many regrets, in such a short time.

There is so much I wish I could say, but none of it would come out right.

Sometimes, I just don't know.

I think I'm ok, but then I fall apart.

I think I'm in control, but then my mind takes over.

I think I'm happy with my life, then I remember all of the things I've given up to try and reach my dreams...dreams that I've watched my peers attain, that I've watched dangled in my face...yet dreams that I will never see because I held on to something far too long.

The times are gone. The experiences never felt. A life totally wasted. One girl who never got to feel that which she grows up planning and daydreaming about.

Depression is nothing more than the curse of an intelligent mind.

Think about it. It seems the less you know and understand, the happier you are in general. It makes me want to be somewhat less intelligent sometimes. To be depressed and focus it on everything in an attempt to uncover what really is bothering me is a process that is really starting to wear on me and those around me I am sure. You might not say anything, but my moods can't be easy to deal with sometimes.

Then again, you might just be able to tune them out.

I don't get the world these days. I find myself wishing that I had been born or lived in days gone by. Sure, life wasn't easy, and there wasn't all of this technology, but I wouldn't mind being part of a world that seemed so much more real. At the risk of sounding cliche, I feel as if I am in a world that is anything but real. The Matrix, where I can create my own residual self image in the form of computer game characters, and where I can hide inside my house while I work, play, and exist in a virtual realm.

It's all so surreal these days.

We just don't have the social nature like people used to. What should be worth something is now worth nothing. Instant gratification and self absorbed pleasure seeking have taken over our outward actions. We dress a certain way, and we act a certain way, to ensure that those around us view us in a particular light. The creation of a residual self image using our own bodies as the medium. Forever changing who and what we are until we are happy with the reactions that others feed back into us.

Yet, inside we are all crying.

There is no such thing as true and perfect love anymore. Love, in the modern world, no longer transcends the imperfections of humanity. No, there is nothing kept sacred anymore. There are no more inseparable couples, no more situations where one lover would do anything for the other. The love stories of generations past die with those who leave this world behind. And it's not that we ignore this manner of being, it's simply that we don't know how to follow such paths. The world has changed.

There are no more love stories.

Things seem to be so much different than the world that I want to see. Perhaps that is my problem. Instead of looking at the way things are and have always been in my short time on this planet, I have been looking through the lenses of glasses made for someone who lived, and loved, almost a century ago. Back when war didn't mean planetary obliteration, when people didn't have to degrade themselves to get the opposite sex to notice them, when some things were sacred, where honesty and 'your word' was the most trustworthy contract, and when I Do really meant 'till death do us part'.

The world isn't like that though.

I often find myself crying at night. When the darkness surrounds me I weep for so many things. There is so much pain, so much that hurts. There are so many experiences that I will never have simply because the world is becoming such a hateful and ugly place. You can't trust your neighbors anymore. You can't even trust your own family anymore. I want so bad to live a peaceful and fulfilling life, but doing so seems to put restraints on those around me that cause friction. So I give it up. I hide it deep inside and cry myself to sleep at night trying desperately not to think about any of it. I step aside and try to take care of everyone else, even if they couldn't give a shit about me.

Look at the common denominator.

So many things are failing these days. Millions of people go without basic health care; care that was even available at seventy years ago. People suffer rather than reach out and find a supportive community to help them back on their feet. People stop trusting because someone takes advantage of them. Maybe the biggest reason for all of this is the sheer fact that people don't care about anyone else anymore. People care about themselves. They only want to get what they can, manipulate the situation to get what they want, and use whoever they have to to get where they wish to go. The problem is that everyone is stepping on everyone else. Very few people get to the top, and even then, we know they did it on the backs of others. It's visibly obvious. What ever happened to communication? Cooperation? Respect? Honesty? Commitment?

Whatever happened to an existence that was actually worth something?

We live our lives these days, but our lives are so shallow. We get pissed because we cannot keep the house we knew we couldn't afford when we bought it. We get pissed when we have to 'suffer' without cable TV during a storm. We get pissed when we don't get that new gadget for Christmas. We get pissed when the diamond on the ring is too small. What legacy does this leave to our children and grandchildren? What difference have we made in the world other that to further perpetuate hate, intolerance, and a lack of caring for your fellow man?

Will anything good be remembered?

I live torn. Half wanting to burst into the present and enjoy all of the wonderful things that self absorbing, instant gratification, and a lack of caring for other people and things can bring to my life. On the other hand, half of me holds on to the world that I see in my idealistic lenses.I want so desperately to live that life, so perhaps I make myself miserable so that I do not become the shallow shell that most people are today. If I cannot experience these moments, then I will at least avoid becoming part of the problem that has stripped the world of its goodness. The side effect, of course, is that I am sad. Sad for the world I will never know. Sad for the people who hurt. Sad for my great great grandchildren who will probably know nothing of true, unconditional love at all.

And then I wonder back to the beginning and find myself depressed once more.

Here we go again. About a week into the whole quitting thing, I fall off the edge of the sane world. It's making me crazy. I build the whole world up against me...feeling alone, as if forgotten, unloved, lost. I wanna scream, but, I try to keep it all under wraps. I don't want to share how I feel...it doesn't make sense and it will just make you mad or whatever. So I cry in the shadows, and attempt to go on from one day to the next as if nothing were wrong...


************************

In the vague darkness of the night, she slept soundly in the security that was provided by her home. She knew her mother was there, and this week, so was her father. She didn't see much of him, as he spent much of his time at sea on a boat, but today, he was home. For that, she was glad.

They had been having trouble with the smoke detector. It seemed to want to go off when there was steam coming from the shower, which normally jolted her awake in the mornings. Today, however, she could see the tall figure of her father silhouetted by her nightlight against the darkness of the hallway. He was so tall that he had no trouble reaching the problem; pulling it from the ceiling and silencing the loud sound.

Looking back, that seemed to be the last real memory that she had before all of that peace and security came to an end.

She opened her eyes only to awaken to the yelling and screaming that she could tell came from her parent's room. Why were they yelling? She was confused, and scared. Pulling the covers higher over her head, she tried to go back to sleep and ignore the yelling. It had happened before, and maybe if she ignored it this time, it would go away. Alas, she heard footsteps coming down the hall and her mother stepped into the room.

"Get in here. You need to make a decision."

The child sat up slowly, her eyes meeting those of her mother. She could tell that her mother was mad; it was rare that such a look crossed her face. In fact, she couldn't remember another time when it had. Getting up slowly, she followed her mother into the bedroom. Getting a hug from her father, she looked from one to the other. He set her up on the bed and stepped back; he seemed to already know the answer.

"Which one of us are you going to choose to live with?"

What? Didn't we all live together? It didn't make sense. She looked from her father to her mother. She didn't really know her father. She didn't really know who he was. It was a big unknown, and that scared her. She started crying. Why would she have to make the choice? Inching towards her mother, the child's eyes seemed to send a message that was far beyond her years.

I'm Sorry.

The world around her collapsed that day. What was life, turned into a ragtag collection of memories. There was the brown van with no seats in the back. There were the cameras. The snow, and painting trees with no leaves with watercolor paints at the kitchen table. There was the time Santa came in on the Jack. She could recall the height, and how she could only hug his knees. Oddly enough, there was also the discussion about getting rid of the cats because of her allergies.

Times changed radically. Things became such a blur. They were moving; packing everything into boxes and going somewhere else. She was sad. First, their television was gone and she couldn't watch the Olympics that year. More than that, her father had not come back and she was going to leave everything that she had ever known. The tree that she claimed was her friend, the garden in the back of the yard, the snow and hot cocoa that normally came with winter.

Things were changing.

Soon, they were in Florida. How they got there was well beyond her, but there they were. Things changed more. Her mother became distant, as if the child was no longer a driving force of any importance in her life. Constantly, she was bombarded by things her mother said; accusations that her father was worthless and didn't want her, that her father had walked out and left her, on top of the accusations of lying, stealing, and general discontent. The child started to hide rather than face it all.

There was a pond in the back of the condo building where they lived. It was here that she would escape. Mounting the imaginary horse that she had, she would race around the pond with other imaginary horses. For hours she could do this. There were no friends. Occasionally, she would have someone to share her world with, but most people just thought she was strange. So, at an age far younger than she wanted to, the child began the process of locking herself away. It was safe in there, where no one else ever came. Her own mind made up friends. There were the officers of the space shuttle, the pilots of the carrier she was assigned to, the other horse riders, and so on. She found comfort in the arms of her imagination; throwing parties for herself and her imaginary friends.

Time marched on around her, though she had gotten so that she was quite well hidden from the world. At the same time, she didn't realize that it was not normal. There was always the twinge of doubt...when she was alone on the playground while the other kids played something together. It made for a lonely existence, but it was something that she was alright with for now. At least she had her imaginary friends, right?

******************************

The bell rang, apparently, even though the woman had ended up on the floor on the other side of the bed. It seemed like an enigma to all of the adults, but for some reason, it made perfect sense to her. Sitting in the darkness of the living room, she took a black paper and a white crayon. She wasn't sure what to think...but she certainly wasn't on the verge of falling to pieces.

That night, people filled the home around her. She didn't talk to them. Instead, she drew her picture and seemed to fill with a sense of contentment. As if someone had told her everything would be alright and she believed it. It was an odd situation, and her mother would later tell her something was wrong with her because she hadn't cried. The child couldn't figure it out though. Why cry? She was only six, but she seemed to understand that people come and go. Life goes on.

Now it was just her mother and her. Things remained the same for a time. She stayed in the private school for another half of a year. They stayed in the home of her grandmother for a couple of years. She ended up in a public school, which was quite the experience for her. She hated it. The kids would throw things at her at lunch...most notably peas...because she would read at lunch rather than get involved in any groups. She had even fewer friends at this school than the last; she was more alone than ever.

Hiding was something that she was learning to do, and she was learning to do it well. She realized that there was no one that wanted to share her thoughts and dreams. They were all outlandish anyways. She kept looking for someone to latch onto, but the someone ended up being the imaginary people that she created in her mind. At least they would be there to talk when she wanted to.

*********************

One day, the mother brought home a man. It was the first time that she had seen another man in her life. She wasn't sure if she was seeking the approval of a male in her life, but she almost instantly latched onto him. She didn't want him to leave too, though she didn't really understand the relationship thing. Still, she had gotten used to him being there when she woke up on weekends, and in her innocence, she would crawl under the covers next to him on the couch. Perhaps this was the start of something evil, but for the child, it was simply warmth and physical contact from someone she considered safe for the first time in a long time...

Suddenly, she found herself mediating the arguments, trying to please her mother every way she could, looking for them to solidify things somehow. There had been talk of selling the condo and moving into his house. It was something she wanted...a real back yard, a pool, and a family. A real family. The possibility of normality.

Weekends began to be spent at his house. In the beginning, it was amazing. It was, just what she wanted. They seemed like a family...they took trips to theme parks, they ate dinner together, they watched tv together. He worked on his cars, and she worked in the house. She would crawl into the waterbed on weekends and he would rub her back. She didn't think it was odd, nor did she find it strange when he told her,

"Sometimes it's ok if I come in the bathroom when you are in the tub, like if you need help washing your back."

It all seemed normal to her, even though the voice in the back of her mind was screaming that it wasn't.