As if every word in the english language was presented in front of me to speak, and yet I was strangled, gasping for breath. Despair. That is what I feel.
The world I have been living in has been akin to a fun fair that never ends. I am placed on a myriad of rides, each one unique and challenging in its own way, each one distracting. And with every step I place in line or on the platform into the ride, my focus is concentrated on the task at hand, and I forget your ultimate goal, my home.
Home is a faraway land, it has almost become myth. My clothes have lost their old smell, and I feel my soul has too. Perhaps what hurts me the most, is that at the fun fair you are not a fan of each and every ride. No, you have to mentally prepare yourself for each one so that you may embrace all its loops and difficulties. I have slowly begun to adapt to my new world, and in doing so, have only pinched myself on occasion, and not truly thought of home. As the hours wore on, I felt something in me slipping.
There is a fine line between conquering your fears, and becoming a person past your fears. One grows and sows both new with old to create a solid foundation. The other stumbles about in a shambly old mobile home like the temporary fun fair I am visiting that only comes once a summer. It breeds new and mixes it with temptations and danger. The first bite of cotton candy is dangerous, the second fun. The third, the fourth are blurs, and just as quickly you can add candy apples to have a rotten cavity.
There is a cavity in my heart that I did not notice until it began to hurt. To describe it as unfortunate, as frustrating and disappointing would be understatements and inaccurate depictions of how I feel. As I struggle for breath, I am bleeding out what I used to be. I did not prevent or catch my disease before it began to spread. Malignant and menacing, my heart swears like a sailor, and phones home as a reflex and not necessarily as a need.
It is confused, damaged, and paralysed.
Aren't fun fairs supposed to be fun?
The person I wanted to grow into, a person less afraid of heights, more open to challenges is not entirely the person I have become. I can teeter on the ledge of the ferris wheel, but cannot handle wobbles. I found that I do not take breaths on roller coasters, and can occasionally become irritable because of it.
I have been rude to the kind employees who spend their dull days waiting in lining catering to my every need. I apologise and it does not suffice my wounded soul.
At this fair, we go as a group, we leave separately. We leave as separate entities that are somewhat strangers to the people we once met.
I cannot vow to avoid such things in life, for too many times have I lost myself, only to catch sight of the sparkling, shining girl I want to be, I used to be. She was always in the past - when did I grow weak? Where was I given broken stilts that I was unable to fix?
My only hope is to take a photograph, as I have done when I came here. Before my journey over, I brought my favourite memory in polaroid form and stuck it in my pocket where I knew it would be kept safe. In this photo I have memorised every contour and frame so that it is not a picture, but a visible, physical memory. I look at it and I am there, I feel the warmth of the hug, and I am home.
Let me take a photograph of the person I have become, keep it next to the other so that I know what I want to feel, and what I do not.
For those I have wronged, I am incapable of fully healing the wounds. I have mistreated you in every way imaginable, and it is against my nature to act in such a way. To say that I am human is a poor excuse, so let me say that I now know I have gained from it, and will make sure to do the best that I can, so you may not incur the pain I have made you suffer in the past. You did not deserve it.
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