Forgotten

I am a soul
In a temporary body
Living on borrowed time
Living on a nickel and a dime
Striving, struggling, and earning
The cycle goes around and around
My life is something to remember
Or maybe it’ll just sink into oblivion
Generations after, will they remember my name?
Or will I be just another entity,
Tucked and pushed away into someone’s distant memory?

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Aside

I Am Free

I am nothing but a soul trying to find peace
I have been beaten down to no return.
My mind is fragile, my confidence scarred
Think positive, but all I produce is negative
I feel as if I wander looking for something
Something that I cannot find
I search I search I search
I crawl, I walk, I run
Happiness, I guess that’s what I’m searching for
Or maybe it’s peace,
Hope, Or love
Love for myself once again
Love for me and my being.
I am locked. Trapped like an animal.
I try to claw my way out
But instead I end up being buried alive
I am suffocating.
It is debilitating, crushing.
Why oh why did this happen to me?
I suppose it was just a twist of fate.
If only I could see a little light
And breathe a little bit of fresh air
Maybe then this feeling will wash away
And I can finally say

I am free.

Daddy

hey daddy. It’s me, olivia. You know, your youngest daughter. Do you remember?

I can tell it takes you a minute to recognize me. Well, I go to MC now. I’m a junior and an english literature major. Do you remember when I told you that?

I’ve missed you so much, daddy. I hope that you have missed me, too. The smallest things make me think of you and our memories. Oh please daddy say you remember.

you’ve changed. You’re a different person now. You still have the same gentle soul, but now you possess a broken mind. What happened, daddy?

Do you remember yourself before we were told you have early on set dementia? Do you remember when you taught me how to ride a bike? Do you remember when you helped me with my science projects? Do you remember my high school gradation? Daddy, please remember.

It breaks my heart to see you live like this. In a constant state of inner turmoil and confusion.

But daddy sometimes you show flickers of who you used to be. Sometimes you are who you were.. But only for a few seconds. I wish that those times would last forever. Daddy, I know you’re still here. Are the memories tucked away somewhere?

You speak and try to make conversation. Your words are jumbled and you now have a stutter. Sometimes I wish that I could just grab you and shake you so you would be back to normal!

Daddy! Daddy! Why did this have to happen to you?

Some days feel so hard daddy. Some days it feels like I just can’t do it anymore. Can you hear me daddy? Will you remember what I’m saying?

Please, if you don’t remember anything else, just remember that I love you.

And I know you love me to

Never Return

The moonlight paints the ground before her with distorted shadows of the objects before her. The trees hang over her with a certain eeriness. She said it feels as if they are whispering about her, as if they are watching her. Her tender, bare feet leave perfect imprints in the dirt. A swirl of dust kicks up by her feet as she runs. The dark night seems to envelope her. She’s searching and searching as she runs further and further into the dark woods. The cold air fills her lungs. Her tears are streaming down her face and her eyes begin to sting. What happened to her? She spins around and lets out a cry. A cry for help, a cry of sorrow, a cry of grief. But the only things that hear her are the ever present moon and the night stars. Her screams bounce off of the trees, and the night sky with such a force that even shakes her to the core. Her echo is one that can be heard for miles. Her only solace is the one she thinks is above.

What is she running from? Why is she trying to hide? She finds that she is searching. Perhaps she’s searching for herself. Perhaps she’s searching for her own soul. She runs deeper and deeper into the woods, not knowing where she goes. Her hands are dirty, her feet are hurting. Her skirt has been ripped to shreds, exposing her bare legs. They are scratched and dirty. The blood is running down. Her face is now red. Her head is still spinning.

She can hear, but she can not see. She is nothing but a lost girl. A girl who’s running and running but can not find what she is looking for. She runs and thinks that she is so close, but she is always so far away. She’ reaching and reaching, but keeps straying further into the darkness. The silence is something that is killing her. It is something dreadful. The silence makes her think. The silence makes her realize. It’s too late to return now. It’s too late to go back. So she just keeps going, with the little power that remains. She keeps going, until she has nothing left.

My Reality vs My Story

I’ve always been a dreamer. I would create these worlds in my head that were highly detailed. There were different characters, and different situations. Usually these dreams would reflect how I wished my life would be. I’m sure everyone does this to a certain point. But for me I wouldn’t just imagine these dreams in my head. There would be so many nights when I would be alone in my room acting out these scenarios. I would laugh and cry on cue. I wasn’t Olivia anymore. I was whatever character my dream would require me to be. It was a way for me to become whatever I wanted to be. It was a way for me to distance my own self from my problems, and my life. But, the lines between my fantasy and my reality began to cross. I would find myself being excited to act out my story (that’s what I used to call it). I would rush to my room and just begin acting out the scene I had in my head. I did begin to pull away from my friends. My story became my life. It was all I needed. I could escape reality for however long I wanted to. It began to turn unhealthy, though. Now, I almost use it as a coping mechanism. If things are going awry in my life, I’ll retreat back into my story. It’s my security blanket. The characters and the life I have created mean something to me. But, I feel that I need to let it go. It’s a way for me to avoid my problems instead of facing them head on. My twisted logic is that I have my story so reality doesn’t matter. My story begins to become my reality. The essence of my characters and the real true me are hard to decipher. But, every time I think of letting of my story it brings me deep sadness. I always think that I’ll have nothing to fall back on when things aren’t going the way I want them to in my real life.

I’ve been searching for other outlets to rely on instead of escaping from reality in such a harsh manner. Maybe acting or writing more or painting. But, I haven’t found anything that gives me as much comfort and satisfaction as creating my story.

Conversations with Myself

“What do you love about me?”

“Oh gosh. Why do you ask me questions like this? I hate them.”

“Please, just answer the question. I just want to know. You can actually answer it, right? Or, do you actually have to dig deep for an answer? I didn’t think the question was hard.”

“Well, I find that the answer to your question changes. It may change hourly, daily, weekly, whatever. Some days the things that I love about you are your downfall. Sometimes the things that I love about you today are the things that I hate the next day. It’s complicated. Before, I used to crave and wish that you were someone else. I didn’t love you, and I rarely liked you. Your seemingly permanent insecurity was disgusting. It was something that I hated. There were always endless excuses on why you couldn’t and wouldn’t do something. They were hollow and baseless. Your thoughts were something that was vile. They poisoned you… I often wondered why you would do this to me…..”

“Are you just going to spew hateful things? The question I asked you was not relevant to your answer. Why must you always bring up those days. They are gone and they are buried. Tell me. What do you love about me? When you see me what emotions flicker and flutter across your mind and being? What thoughts consume you when you see me? What are the words you wish to tell me? Are my thoughts and actions still baseless and hollow? Or have they gotten some substance now? Surely there must be something within me that you love. Or do you just loathe every inch of me?”

“You’re never satisfied with the answer. Of course there are things that I love about you. I dare not hate every inch of your being. Do you feel as if I do? There are things that I love about you. In truth, there are many things. Well I’ll start off like this. I don’t want to randomly list things off that I love. You are not a bag of groceries that I must check off. There’s a certain type of comfort that I feel in you. Your being is simply intoxicating. Why? Ask yourself why isn’t it. The way your eyes glisten and gleam is lovely. You are learning to find a beauty in life now. I would say that is what I love the most. No, you are not perfect, and I will not tell you that. I have no urge to tell you that. However-

“Please stop. Your answer is vague. It seems generic, almost rehearsed. What is the honest truth? What is the honest answer? Maybe there’s more digging that needs to be done. Why am I even asking this question. What do you love about me… What a ridiculous question. I see the answer everyday. I answer my own question everyday… Nevermind. I wish to know no more. “