Living Through Letters

Seven years ago, I felt I was in a secure place. Seven years ago, I believed I was happy. Today, I reflect on those thoughts and come to a realization that none of what I believed matters anymore. None of the things that were important then made it to my present. I let myself down. I let people around me down too. I’m tired of feeling like the rain cloud around everyone’s sunny day, including me. I’m no longer the rock. I am weak. I sound like I’m complaining, but I’m merely broken down. I’m licking my own wounds in efforts to stop myself from bleeding all over the place. My efforts to contain myself only result in an emotional explosion that affects the closest to me. Though their efforts to understand are astounding, I know their tired. Hell, I’m tired. I know I’m not the only one with healing wounds, but I’ve never felt so out of place. I’m actually short of words; me a writer and long winded speaker not able to communicate. Wow. I’ve contemplated suicide once; now that seems cowardice and immature. My journey is far from completed. Instead I run faster in hopes of moving through this obstacle course of a life faster. There has to be a way. I know that direction I’ve chosen to travel is not easy and far fetched. There just has to be a way. I’m missing something. I look at my lover’s eyes and I see resentment. I call on my friends and I feel judged. I seek refuge with family and I feel outcasted. I understand I can’t please them all and still be true to who I am. Who I am. I’ve matured so much. Who am I? Did I change that much? I stare at the mirror looking for something, but all I see are brown eyes on the verge of tears. I pray to God, but it’s like I’m talking to myself. Call me impatient, but it hurts now. Damn.

Nadya Nataly