Chapter 8 - Heartfelt Writing

I spend the next day writing away my feelings. I feel like if I don't, I can't sit comfortably with them. Every time I write I give away parts of myself and today I crave the feeling of emptiness. I acknowledge that it hasn't been long and yet I'm back to isolating myself, but what else can I do? It's all been so overwhelming. I sit at the table with my pen and journal and write as the rain hits the window beside me. With no restrictions, no expectations, nothing. I spill my heart out to the empty sheets so I can finally hear myself. 

Belonging

On days like this I wonder who I belong to. Refusing the give myself away to others or to claim myself as my own, I allow myself to rot away. I cannot throw myself away but I am incapable of repairing myself. I leave myself in the corner of the room to gather dust. When I look at my reflection and see my depleting figure, in frustration I throw myself across the room. Bruises across my legs spelling out the extent of my self hatred. While I fight to pull out of this sadness dragging me deeper into the ocean, it is only me pulling myself down.

Wall

I would write down every emotion I am feeling and have ever felt but it never works out. I never feel for long enough to express the intensity of my emotions. I have always been black or white, never grey. I will either feel everything in crashing waves or nothing at all. What am I to do with all of the emotions threatening to spill out of my veins? How can I vent if my mind refuses to speak and my heart refuses to feel? I am weighed down by all of these emotions that refuse to show. It's funny in a way, how I can feel everything without feeling anything. A wall between me and myself. How can I speak about how I feel when I don't even know myself? There are not enough words in any language to explain the intensity of my emotions. The sheer gravity of them all. The weight of anxiety of never amounting to anything. Now more than ever I feel as though I cannot handle it. What am I to do when I am set for failure? The world isn't made for people like me. It isn't accustomed to my emotions. The darkness seeping out of me only serves to cloud my judgement further, making it harder to navigate myself in an already complicated world. I want to express my emotions to lessen the burden, empty my heart a little, allow it some space to breathe. But if I cannot connect with them while speaking, what use is it? There is no release. I have grown tired of everything, of this constant struggle, of this constant emptiness. I am forever doubting whether I am feeling anything or if I am dissociated. So what use is any of it? I am not living, barely breathing. The weight of all of my emotions pressing into my ribs and collapsing my lungs. I just want to feel empty for once. But even in my nothingness I don't feel empty. 

"Anna". I call out in a tired voice, lifeless. 

"Yes, my lady?" She says as she quickly turns her attention to me. Waiting for what I have to say. I tear my sheets of writing from the notebook and fold them into an envelope. 

"Can you go and give this to my father?" I request with a weary smile. 

"I shall do it right now". She says as she quickly takes the envelope from my hands and sets out. I sink down into my seat and close my eyes. I had no intention of sharing my dark thoughts with anyone, let alone them. But it's better than having to sit and explain things to them as they incessantly question my experience. I've been too teary lately. Everything has been too much. It's understandable I suppose, given how much has happened, but I continue to criticise myself anyway. Somehow after facing my emotions I've become extremely tired. In a way I cannot explain. I cannot feel anything. I realise I've dissociated for the first time in this life. I stare up at the ceiling blankly waiting for Anna to return. It's much simpler at times like this when I cannot feel, but it's always followed by a sense of loss. As the saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side. At times of hardship I wish I could not feel, and at times of detachment I wish I could feel just to prove my own existence. Given my previous experience, I decide not to think about it. I'll return to full reality soon, for now I can take advantage of my self defense mechanism and do what I want without feeling any emotional restraints. 

I go towards my bed and reach under it to pull out an old dusty box. After wiping it, I open it and pull out a framed portrait of my mother when she had first gotten married, when her face was still alive with happiness. Holding the frame between my two hands as though I was hugging something extremely precious, I walk towards the living room piano and set the frame ahead of me as I sit down on the seat. I begin playing a song for her. It felt like I was writing a love letter of sorts. My fingers danced along the keys naturally given my previous practice, my voice coming out unstrained and bouncing around the room in gentle breathy notes. I hoped the song would sound like summer happiness. Though I know logically that she cannot hear me, some part of me felt like she was listening to me. So at the very least, I should sing to her with happiness like the sun's warmth hugging us to sleep or the scent of flowers clouding our unhappiness. 

By the time I had finished the song Anna was at the door out of breath. She must have been running around looking for me. She settles down beside me as I start playing the piano again. I allow myself to be free and create whatever I want, no need for perfection. The sound creating images of rain falling upon a grey world to give birth to colour. I sing off the top of my head. 

Did you know how deep my feelings for you were?

That I was drowning in words I couldn't utter

Anchored down by

Fear of rejection

Fear of replacement

Fear

Had you known this you would understand why death no longer fazes me

What have I to fear

When I die every day

What have I to fear

When I learn to live every day

Each night loneliness teaches me suffocation

And every day hope reteaches me salvation

A constant battle

Between optimism and depression

But when I sleep 

Let me wake to find happiness staring back at me

Holding me in their arms in the presence of the sun

In the presence of the moon

Let it make love to me until I come undone 

Let me breathe while spring blooms in my chest

I'm tired of dying in perpetual unrest 

What am I even dying for 

Who am I even dying for 

If there is no good enough reason then let me live

Let me live

Let me live 

What have I to fear

When I die every day

What have I to fear

When I learn to live every day

Each night loneliness teaches me suffocation

And every day hope re-teaches me salvation

Later that day my step mother and father had read the notes I had written together and cried. Although they could not understand why I was feeling like this or what I was suffering with, they could feel my emotions pouring out of the page. My sadness dripping through the ink and stretching over miles and miles. They could feel my sorrow and hatred for the world and for myself. That day, unbeknownst to me, they pledged to do everything they could to bring joy back to my life. Maybe they had come one step closer to understanding who I truly am. 

The rest of the week goes by like this, with me feeling out of touch with myself. I walk around feeling like a zombie, arms apart from feelings. I chase Adelphos around to stick to my plan and he doesn't mind as much as he lets on. At first he would pay no interest, then he would show distaste, but his childlike self is still incapable of feigning dislike well enough for me to believe it. I see him waiting for me when I'm late to the training grounds for my lessons or his elation when I enter the dining room to eat with the family. I stick to him, taking on the role of a younger sister since that seems to please him. Perhaps he had really wanted to be a reliable older brother. I allow myself to act childish and make requests of him. Although I say it's because it makes him happy, some part of me is aware that I have always craved the feeling of an older sibling doting on me. He complains at every request and yet fulfills them with unfaltering displays of affection. Adelphos is someone I have nothing against. I have always believed that a child should not be punished based on their parents' actions and that would not change now. He was, and still is, a step brother who is prickly and hard to get close to. But if I could melt his heart and receive the familial love I have longed for, why should I not?