A Saturday spent at home: an insightful short story.

A Saturday spent at home...

A Saturday spent at home, finishing up a three-week long assignment in a matter of hours, while the red candle burns, melting unevenly, with its wavering flame mocking me of my insecurities and reminding me of my unstable anxieties.

I'm alone.  I'm alone at this desk.  I'm alone in this room.  This room, where I spend copious amounts of time with sighs and daydreams, sunken guts and wrenching heartbreak.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, but that's what they all say.  Has life really come down to a library stack of clichés?  Oh, the irony.  Life is ironic beyond measure, and everyday adds material to my solo act. 

Hatred is an instigator, and I pray to avoid such
disastrous situations.  But have you ever heard of "the wrong place at the wrong time", followed by a "reason for everything", or "a lesson to be learned here"?  Bullshit.  I called it.  I knew this would happen, or I feel as if I knew it would.

Despite the unfounded warning and what I guess I should take as a compliment now, "she's a smart girl, she'll figure it out", I chose to do whatever I wanted.  I always do.  Not without guilt or some type of remorse, but I do what I want to do, when it's plausible.

Those were simpler times when no one else was involved.  I didn't have to consider so many people's feelings at once because I only cared about my own.  Now there are his, and hers, and theirs, and yours, and I can't, no, don't want to believe that I need you all in some way.

What I portray is not an act, but rather what I truly want to be and see.  I am who I want to be, but fall short.  I stumble.  I'm criticized and bogged down with your rudimentary maturity.  You see the world in a box, and I'm living in a circle.  I don't want to partake in your "he said she said" yet if I don't, then the truth will always be skewed.  Set the record straight.

If this isn't written in enough terms and phrases that you can understand, then I've failed.  But you think that anyway.  The only one that builds up my confidence is me.

You can't love someone until you love yourself, and you don't love yourself because you haven't been shown the way.  It starts in childhood.  The formative years.  The developmental stage.  If it didn't happen then, what now?  You were a cover-up, and I did more harm by hiding my feelings.  I gave you more honesty than what you could process.  You're emotionally unstable and I require extra support.  But I can't expect emotional support from someone who has never had any, nor have they ever been shown how.  Yet you blame me, and I dismiss you.  If I didn't I would yell all day.  Or cry.

There are only two applicable emotions; anger or tears.

And I'm exhausted from the anger, and my tear ducts have dried up from more heat and sand than has the Sahara.

The circle of life begins with life, ends with death, and is filled with surprise.

Your circle begins with lies, ends with lies, and is filled with despair.

Something I've learned along the way; you can't cheer up depression.  You can't make it laugh, you can't break its shell, you can't bring it a smile.

Depression is depressing, for the depressive and for me.

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This was a bit of a free-write for me; a journal page revealed, if you will.

Thank you for reading.  Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments.

I wish you a very beautiful day, full of sparkle, shine, and smiles!  Find something at which to laugh out loud, that won't hurt or harm someone in the process.  I keep finding out that when you make jokes about a certain person, they won't find them funny.  Go figure.

Courage & Kindness,
Becky