I am at a crossroads. And it is a sort of multiple crossroads. Maybe one should imagine several railway lines crossing at the same point, if that is even possible.
Over a year ago I was told so many things. Promising things. Big plans. And I totally felt I was on the right track. And then there was another set of things, promises, more promises.
And while the promising things barely came to life, there were also the promises that fell off one by one from their long list.
I am usually forgiving and eager to compromise and give second third fourth whatever chances.
But now I find myself alone and disabled on so many levels.
Do people say things so lightly now or simply out of the intensity of their emotions at any given time?
Now I do not even have the superior confidence to say what is on my mind about all these things, to one who promised me that the time has come for me to rest.
I have been trying each day, really hard, to display constancy, because perhaps the fault is really all mine, as I usually discovered in the past. But I am tired, and despite my adjustments and adapting to even the most unusual and inexplicable circumstances, I find myself alone and unable to speak. Not so much as unable to speak, but paralysed by the fear of speaking. When I speak, as I discovered in the recent months, it goes back to how heartless and insensitive, and even insane, I am.
It's just that I thought that this insanity was acknowledged and accepted before, and even labeled as something endearing.
And then after grasping at straws, telling myself things are still fine, and perhaps just morphing into something different and yet still good, I come to this point - the place where the mountain of promising things were said to me, and I hardly see anything that matches up to any of those.
And in this same place, I realise that my shelter is not exactly where it should be.
I was not even asked, not once, what my thoughts are, or perhaps how a compromise can be made. Or perhaps a plan. Some kind of mutual understanding of where we both are.
Suddenly what mattered was just the things outside of me.
And I could not say anything because I would again be labeled as ill. Insane. TOO MUCH.
One party was supposed to take care of the areas I needed help in. Instead there was just even more oppression, just a different kind from the one where I came from.
And then there was the one who was supposed to be my final stop.
But right now I just feel like there is nobody.
I know that it isn't right to see or think of things this way. I know what I should think and I know what I should do. But sometimes one just becomes overwhelmed by what she feels. Or what she sees. Or what she no longer hears. Or what she no longer has.
Once again, I feel things slipping away. That all too familiar sensation that makes me wish to never wake up again.
I have been trying, really. In everything. In the things I have been trying to do well in. And in the things that I am telling myself to believe. To feel. I gave away as much credit as I could. And I realise that for quite some time, I have been feeling empty.
There are things, and experiences, but I do not feel the heart.
I can tell what happened in one of my circumstances - it was all due to inconsistencies and lack of order and the blatant inequality.
But in my other situation, I have no idea what happened. I have been working at it for months, and while I don't mind working at it if I knew that my efforts were met, it disheartens me now to feel that I have been toiling completely on my own. I have been working just so I would not feel that thing that was harshly pulled away from me, which I still not know what.
Did I allow myself another chance to get killed?
If things do not go right, I do not think I would have any more spirit left. Everything is just so close to being extinguished.
I wish I could feel that same 100% assurance that wrapped my entire life a year ago. I wish I am still right in choosing that home, that shelter. That final stop. I chose it because I believed it and I put my faith in it. I wish I could understand why all the empty spaces started replacing spots where there used to be a seemingly endless world of safe and familiar ground.
I wish promises stopped being broken. It is about time.
I have painfully let go of so many talks of this and that and names and steel and joint spaces and many promises, hoping that this is just how things get to their better states.
But I am tired. And it feels even more tiring when you find yourself treading the path alone. No longer led, but pushed. No longer allowed to go first, but left behind. Almost as if I no longer matter.
And then that place. Where I thought I could find what I needed. But its strange ins and outs just formed holes and gaps. In me. In others. Among ourselves.
I wish things would go right. I am exhausted. I wish I could feel that again; being finally home. Again. For real. In my final stop. My final stops. In both contexts. Because I am tired. Really tired.