My Closet Is Clear of My Skeletons, but I Still Don’t Sleep.
I perceive every interaction in my existence as something. I neither understand, nor can I conceive, a world without feeling, emotion, or consequence.
I am not one to tread lightly on the subject of loss, pain, love, happiness, or sorrow. The fleeting glimpse of anything remotely stirring in my being is a tidal wave of something wanting to get out. I have to run, literally or figuratively, to protect myself from the immense creation my mind wants to unfold.
I don’t understand those who can keep these things within them, hoarding them in the closet of their space until it eventually bursts open for all to see. No one will know why, but everyone will be astonished at what has come forth. “She always seemed so happy, her parents were so loving,” they will whisper and gawk at the mess that exploded in front of them.
I can’t comprehend the state of a human mind that is at rest. My brain is bombarded with facts, figures, the why’s and how’s of life and death. I often wonder if anyone else thinks of death as often, the dark abyss sinking deep within the depths of nothingness, or perhaps the light enchanted place of the heavens in the afterlife. I don’t know how anyone can lose a spouse, child, cat, lover, without looking back.
I am forever seeking the truth about the past, my constant pain of turning my head to see what could have been. My ego believes it is possible to change it, my broken heart knows that is not possible.
I often wonder how someone could be my friend, how they could listen to my sorrow, pain, and fleeting happiness without leaving me to mumble to myself about the universe, and how I can conquer all the fears that come with it.
I don’t really understand how some can be constantly happy. I feel the need to kick over their sandcastle even knowing it took patience and time for them to build. I want them to feel anger, resentment and fear as I have.
No, I don’t feel bad about how I express myself, I don’t expect that anyone would be okay with having their feelings thrown out to the world for all to see. Perhaps that is why half the population is medicated, because if it were not so, we would be inundated with poets and playwrights, manic lyricists on every corner.
I still don’t believe in the glass being half-full, I believe that when the glass is empty, we must suffer through our thirst until we find the one thing that can quench it, which might take a lifetime to conquer. I feel empathy and compassion for those who wait for their mocha latte to cool so that they may take a sip, for this is the highlight of their day.
I cannot relate to the average, the normal human way of life. I fear nothing, and am sure to push myself through the uncomfortable spaces that might confront me. I will never hesitate to seek out the unexpected. My closet is clear of my skeletons, they left long ago, but I still don’t sleep. I lack the ability to comfort myself, and maybe others. Silence makes me happy, solidarity is my playground.
I am comfortable with knowing that no one will understand me. The prospect of dying alone does not scare me, and what I feel will always be written down, whether I want it to escape or not. Normality sounds interesting to my subconscious, perhaps I was on the PTA in a former life, or the wife of a politician.
Maybe that is why I fear a cluttered closet of souls that go unheard — the lost voices of past lives — emotionless and unfeeling. The hairs on my arms stand just thinking about it. The darkness of the world gives me hope that one day I will be free of myself, to drift off with the angels or the devil, but either way I will be free. My closet will be empty.
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Paige Manginello is a creative writer, athlete, and perpetual student of the Universe. Her views are dark and twisted, very raw, and to the core of the world she sees through her eyes. She is a beginner blogger, and strives to one day write her stories all over the world. Paige grew up traveling the world as a child, finally settling in Houston, Texas. She works for a European company which enables her to travel. Starting her life over at 45 after a series of life tumbles, she has pulled from these experiences provoking thoughts of the heart, mind, and emotions perceived by both parties. There is something so intense about the way people react to each other in and out of love. Documenting this, and all the ways human beings give and take, has been her way of healing, as well as finding light within the dark.
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