Stream Of Consciousness

I realize that above all else, I am mad. Furious, even. My whole world is collapsing and shattering and I’m left standing here with nothing to hold onto; no one to confide in. I have myself, my thoughts, the basics, and I am here, in a whirlwind of hurt, grief, depression, using any means to escape the constant pain… And everyone else’s world is going on just fine. How dare the earth continue revolving around the sun and people continue to go to school and work and eat and sleep and know nothing of the pain I’m going through and how there’s a man in a hospital right now who’s so amazing and wise and has been through so much in life and tells these fantastical stories and laughs like no one else and who’s primary worry isn’t his self but his family and you people have never known him! You don’t know what the world is going to lose or what he may have accomplished if not for the chronic cancer pushing on his brain after putting him through hell for two years and you people go on as if NOTHING IS WRONG; as if everything’s just fucking fine when it’s not and you people are missing out on knowing this amazing man AND YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW IT. And more than that, you don’t even care, and more than that, you don’t even know any fucking better. You fucking people that don’t have to suffer like I do; don’t go to the hospital every fucking day, even if just for an hour to sit with him and talk about nothing. You fucking people who know nothing of this world or of this man in it or of how bad it FUCKING HURTS. Is it so selfish to want someone to suffer with me? Someone who’s world is also stopping; who isn’t so taken over with grief that they’re diving into bottles like my brother or only able to talk about themselves like my mother, while I sit there, watching my dad staring at me but not seeing me, seeing some ghost from the past or some old memory or maybe seeing nothing until his brain picks up speed and he’s back in the hospital with me. Reading his thoughts and knowing he’s scared we’re going to forget him and forget to visit and he’s going to be this older man slowly dying in hospice care alone; slowly losing his self until the cancer cells finally eat away the rest of his life and his heart stops. Slowly losing his fight, which he’s all but surrendered too anyways, while our worlds keep turning and we keep living and leave him on his own after everything he’s done; all the sacrifices he’s made. And people tell me I need a break to not burn myself out. Fuck that. That’s long ago happened and I’m fine. I don’t care about myself; I never have. And now, the last thing I’m going to do is sit here and give myself a break while the world keeps turning and you people are just fucking fine and your world keeps turning and your life keeps growing and you tell me to stop stressing so much and I’m left sitting in the shower by myself and crying because my world HAS stopped and I’m in so much pain at times I can’t even breathe and you keep telling me to breathe when I have the weight of an untold story on my chest and the pain of an entire family that I feel every moment of the day. How dare you be okay and how dare your life go on and how dare you not be suffering and how dare you not know. Every single person on earth: fuck you for not knowing and having your world keep turning and not even know that mine isn’t. Fuck everyone and everything and the earth and life and your religious theories and spiritual ideas and comfortable ignorance and unknowing apathy and the moon and the stars and emotions and the doctors and tests and treatments and surgeries and chemo and radiation and the sun and abnormal growths and everything that ever existed…

And especially, fuck me, for being so indignant; so selfish and spiteful and hateful and emotional and cowardly. And scared.

God, I’m fucking terrified. I don’t know if people realize how scared the children of terminal parents are. But then again, aren’t we all terminal? It just don’t stare us in the face and force the truth down our throat causing a lump so huge we can barely swallow and a pain so intense we can’t do anything but stare back at it, frozen, terrified, more insecure of anything than we’ve ever been… Seeing something that has tethered us to this earth float away, as we desperately grab at it and try to keep it here with us because it’s something that we always knew as a concrete item; that no matter what we do or where we go, it’d always be here and keep us grounded. And as it slips out of our reach, we begin to float away and feel less and less like a real person. We slip into projecting and losing a sense of reality and slip in and out the present and the past and those affected by it don’t understand why we’re reacting to something the way we did and we don’t know how to tell them we’re not yelling at them but some ghost of the past. And the only time we can really feel is when we’re at the hospital and that hurts so fucking much we can’t help but float a little to numb it and pretend everything’s okay. Pain grounds you, but you’re not allowed to hurt yourself and sex makes you feel real and grounded but you’re scared that if you should hurt or fuck, you’ll feel too much again. But you want so desperately to feel like a person, it makes you sick. Nothing is concrete, nothing is stable, nothing is whole, you’re not concrete, stable, or whole; you’re floating alone and scared and feel more like a child than you did as a child and you hate yourself for focusing so hard on how you feel because you feel selfish but it just hurts so fucking bad and you’re so mad that you are expected to keep it together and keep living and cope when you simply aren’t able to anymore and you are completely and utterly and fully alone. And it’s unbearable. And you run out of words to say and ways to fake it and ways to comfort your family and so you retreat and people get mad but you’re out of emotions to feel but it’s okay because it’s better to be numb and feel nothing than to experience it all at once and you wish with all your heart that you could be going through his with him and laugh when you forget things and can share this with him because what hurts you the most is that his world HAS stopped and he IS completely and utterly alone as well and you can’t do anything about it, just as no one can do anything about it for you.

And life goes on and you resist as much as possible,
and just try and stay on this earth so you don’t lose your mind and you just
Float.

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One response to “Stream Of Consciousness

  1. This is what happens when I go off to the store to buy a bottle of port wine, come back home and decide to look up “Poe” and “Stream of consciousness” on google. I go for a click and then suddenly find myself in the midst of some passionate, yet overtly personal, writing. As if I tripped over a diary, opened it up to the first chapter, and went, “Go on.”

    There’s great vibrancy and language in this post, but it’s still wrought with distracting mellow-dramaticsm. All in all, I’m glad to have accidentally fallen upon this.

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