rewritten March 6/06

Sunday morning. I woke up and I knew today was different. Today was something out the ordinary, something that would just hit me like a ton of bricks (how cliché) and just continue beating me despite the fact I might already be gone. It was rather pathetic really, as I laid there in bed watching the sunrise. Feeling my chest rise up and down to every breath that I took: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…like one could forget. Who forgets something as simple as breathing, as simple as life? Me, that's who.

And I was crying.
Small tears at first, barely noticeable. Then great, big racking sobs that threatened to consume my body— threatened to consume me. I couldn't stop; I had no idea what had brought on my total state of surrender. I was beyond the point of caring.

I can hear Jack Johnson's 'F-Stop Blues' playing in my head. The lyrics keep going over and over. I knew that this was my theme song. This was the song I was going to die listening too. This was the song that went right to my heart and put a hole straight through it.

/Look who's laughing now that you've wasted
How many years and you've barely even tasted
Anything remotely close to
Everything you've boasted about
Look who's crying now

This is what they call unfailing tears: crying as an action as simple and involuntary as breathing. And yet, one you're so much in control of. Watch…right now, I'm gasping for air and the whole pattern of that simple 'inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale' pattern has been broken. I'm being suffocated in today, yesterday and tomorrow. I'm drowning in seventeen years.

Quick glance in the mirror…there's this girl sitting in her bed who looks barely human. Curls awry, breaking down in unfailing tears—everything about this girl is rather pathetic. Everything about her just screams pitiful, and 'pity-her.' But you can't, because as I'm staring at this girl, I can't even begin to pity her because that means I have to pity myself. And if I pity myself…well, who wants to witness their self-implosion?