silentrain's Blog

Darkness, my old friend
Date: Oct 19th, 2005 9:56:40 pm - Subscribe
Mood: lost
Music: 'All at Sea' by Jamie Cullum

It's like that feeling you get right after you turn out the only light in a dark room. The halo of the single light-bulb you had stared at for so long mirages in front of your eyes in colors of red, yellow and orange; replenishing itself with every blink until it depletes into blackness.
You half consciously move your hand in front of your face. But the only way you know it's there, flapping away, is that your brain is telling you, hoping you'll listen. Or maybe you finally move it so close to your face that the six sense in the bridge of your nose tingles, or you end up hitting yourself right smack in the eyes and suddenly an array of red lines and blue orbs appear.
But when they disappear, you finally realize the darkness has completely engulfed you; silence ringing in your ears like a chorus.

Most of the time, I find this calming, and actually look forward to shutting off that blasted light and for the arrival of my old friend dark to come in and sweep me off my bed of troubles and stress.

But lately my best friend has become my enemy.

And now darkness has found a way to take it's long, bony fingers and wrap them around my pale neck, squeezing as hard as it can; it's claw-like fingernails digging into my soft flesh, trying to draw as much crimson as it can before a scream can pass through my windpipe.

"It's going to be okay, Marina. Everything's going to be fine. You wont notice a difference, and after a while he'll be up and walking again, just like old times. See Marina? Nothing's going to change."

Liars, all of you.
Why are you telling me something you don't even believe yourself? I can see it in your eyes- the fear, the redness from crying, the way you seek for other subjects to talk about and wince every time you hear those voices from the other room. It doesn't make sense. I'm fifteen now, I can handle the truth- I need the truth, can't you see that?
But no, to them, I'm still a baby- sitting there mute, dumb, and blind; speaking in my own language; oblivious to all that goes on.

I keep a straight face on as I enter that back room, trying to act as hopeful as everyone is faking to be. But the proof lies on the bed, and there's no denying what my thoughts tell me when my dark orbs lay upon the contents.

The truth is in front of our endless black holed eyes.

They talk about it upstairs as I type away in my lair. Every night they speak as though I always have music blaring in my ears and can't hear how they talk- about the problems they're too scared to say in front of my little sister and I, or even how they talk about me.

Yeah, sure, sometimes it hurts. My quench for knowledge always leaves me parched in this family. The truth is always hidden behind thick vines of white lies and false hopes- out of sight, out of mind- and I only have my ears and silent footsteps to use as a machete.

"See? He's doing better today, Marina. Why yesterday...."

Yeah, sure. By that point I tune you out, just like all teenagers do; knowing full well that your voice is cracking not because of a sore throat, and your eyes are red not because of allergies.
But my heart tells me to nod and be the pillar of strength and blindness to your lies; a pillar one could tell any and every problem to, and whether it knew it the whole time or not, would act as though this was the first time those words had ever been uttered on the face of this earth.

I know people look to me for strength.

Some are silent about it, others tell me to be, and then some just thank me over and over for being the hollow shell who stands up when they'd rather be falling, and allow them to crash to the ground without a second thought.
There's a part of me that doesn't mind being like that anchor on a stormy night sea voyage, but, of course, another part of me is screaming and hitting the interior of my forehead, commanding me to break down right on that spot. But that voice is only victorious when I lock the door to my room and am alone with my once again close friend.


But, if there is something I never minded about being that anchor, it's when other people tell me their problems, or tell me what is really wrong. It gives me the chance to forget about my life, to forget about all the lies, the fallacies, my fears and focus on anothers'.
I'm constantly telling people, or wish I had the courage to tell some that no matter what, they can come to me when they need to get something off their chests. Whether it be a problem, a secret, a worry, an anything, my quote that I use to break down their phobia of coming to me always is- "I like listening to other people's problems, so go right ahead."

And with that I offer whatever they need.

Secrecy is always a given, my lips becoming metal bars, impenetrable by any force.
I give them a shoulder to cry on, a pair of ears to never turn away, words of advice, condolence, support, or ones that never come out for they have no need to.
A similar story, or just a nod of the head, I want to do what I can for other people; especially ones I feel don't deserve what comes their way, or ones I don't even know personally- doesn't matter to me.
I try to be all these things that the person wants, ready to give that individual what they need and no one else is willing to give.

For some reason, I've never found it a problem, always receiving comments like, "You should become a psychologist."
Heh, yeah, sure, I'm just glad I could help.

Still, there's that little voice again who wishes I had someone I could let my guts fall on the floor to and not worry about picking them up or shutting them down forever. Someone I could bury my head into and cry for as long as I needed to, and they would simply place a comforting hand around me and tell me everything was going to be okay, even if they didn't know the whole story.

But, my time will come someday, I know it, and I fear it.
For someday I wont be able to keep this straight, strong face amongst the tear-streaked ones of others.
Someday something will happen that causes the waves to crash down so hard that the anchor breaks off from that metal chain and causes the mighty ship to go crashing down into Davy Jones' locker- never to sail again.
Someday, that irksome little voice will win, and it's influence will come streaming down my face as I fall to the ground.

I only hope that someone is there to catch me.

Comments: (3)

heavensent - October 20th, 2005 You are a brilliant writer. I wish I could be there for you to cry to, but I don't know you. You could cry to me anyway, and I could be your pillar. If only.

zanjui - October 21st, 2005 Everyone needs some sort of pillar to hold them up. Wether it be just themselves or an outside force. And although these pillars are comforting and supporting, tides tend to disintegrate solid rock. I often find myself looking for new pillars or reconstructing them, for mine aren't always made of cement, but rather weak driftwood. They can be there one minute and then suddenly they snap and drift about below, waiting to be rebuilt again. In good time, I construct new legs to hold up the deck above the sea. I learn new construction methods and use them to my advantage. I believe that no one will ever have such pillars that will withstand all the storms of the sea. They will only find themselves building new. And for those that are weak, they plunge into the depths of the sea and drift with their pillars that once stood. Storms are unpredictable, and without them we wouldn't grow.

playwright - October 21st, 2005 Did you ever stop to think that letting out all of this trapped emotion would not make you weak, but rather, make you stronger than you already are? Don't hold everything inside of yourself, let it loose, let it go. If you can show your true colors to those around you, those that depend on you for support, you can open up whole new worlds between yourself and those you love. It is possible to find a shoulder to cry on... it may even belong to someone who cried on yours. You are courageous and beautiful for what you have done for others. Let them know this!

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