Wilted Petals And Morbid Dreams

I could see a dim light glimmering in the water above my head. My vision was fading and every inch that I sank deeper into the ocean’s cold, dark abyss; I could feel the pressure in my head increasing. I only had a few small breathes of air left in my worn out lungs. As my body fought for oxygen, small gasps of air escaped my lungs through my mouth in a muted panic as I realized what I had done. The anchor pulled down roughly at my ankle, I was like a balloon attached to a paper weight. I glanced up slightly at the dim light once more, and then out at the calm, yet violent ocean that had consumed my body as if it were a pill. Shortly after, everything went blank.

The feeling of being alone is often described as drowning whilst watching everyone around you breathe. People are ten feet away, but they feel as if they were ten thousand. You feel like the one wilted flower on the bush that everyone walks by without a thought of you even tracing their mind. I was that flower. The walls had become my only friends. My shadows mocked me, my reflection judged me, my skin was cut to the bone, and it was smothering me like a pillow. The air I breathed was full of oxygen, yet it did nothing but suffocate me. For as long as I can remember, I got my little piece of happiness through kissing a blade. I longed for the feeling of starvation. I craved pain.

When anchors are tied to your ankles, how do you rise to the surface?

When scars litter your body, how can you wear them with pride?

Reality could slip through my fingers easily and with little effort. Numbness is all that I could bear to feel anymore. Emotions and feelings were too much for me to wrap my brain around and wouldn’t stay constant enough for me to control. Everywhere I went felt like a never-ending alley way that led nowhere. Most people would absolutely despise that feeling. However, I found peace in it. I adored it. I got used to it so much that being around people made me uneasy and scared.

At school, I would walk down the halls and around me, faces blurred and words seemed to flow together. I saw people only as clones. One day, my eyes caught s someone who seemed to stand out above the rest. I had no idea what it was, but this person seemed so different and just… perfect. The feeling, or rather the craving, to continue my destructive ways slowly faded. Self-destruction always seemed like such a pretty little thing to me. I wilted my own petals and regretted it only to a certain point; at the same time, it was my escape from reality.

Now, stuck in my head, I cannot escape. Dreaming is my wasteland, my retreat from the real world. In vivid nightmares; I find myself.  I drown, I pull the trigger, and I step in front of the train. Humanity is not real in my dreams, and with humanity comes death. When your worst fear is life, how can it come to life in a dream? Before I drift off to sleep, I close my eyes and relapse. I kiss my razor once more; another wilt in my petal, another river on my skin. My mind is flooded with thoughts of the previous year. I have gotten better, but have not quite recovered.

The dim light in the water pulls me out of the abyss and frees my ankle of the anchor. My consciousness reconvenes; I can feel the pressure slowly leaving my head. As I come out of the water, I inhale a rather big breath of oxygen. I cough up all of the water and I am pulled onto a small raft. My vision blurs and when I come back, I no longer feel trapped. I feel free. Coming out of the darkness never once ran through my mind as reality. Not until now at least. The oxygen is not suffocating me anymore; my skin is not smothering me. My shadows do not mock, my reflection does not judge, and the walls no longer speak. The loneliness I felt was a mere idea in my head. My thoughts were drowning me, not an ocean. Ideas and thoughts can change a person for the better or the worse; people can push you in a certain direction, but you choose where you stand.


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