I stumbled into my room, and eventually into the bathroom. Slowly and painfully, I went on my knees and bent over the commode. I didn't puke, but I instantly wanted to spit out what I had seen - something so revolting to my inner senses that I felt that any instant comfort will come in the loo and not on my bed.
I had no idea what I was doing when I saw it, and how it made me feel. Never ever did I ever wish to crawl out of my own skin and drape someone else's over mine, just so I could say that I wasn't there, yet I was. Never, even in my deepest lows, did I feel like I needed to not be myself, and even more so, be someone else for that matter.
As every disaster unfolds, there exists a quiet din before and harrowing silence right after the ravage. That's how I remember things being right before the event. It made me feel unworthy, despicable, ugly and downright filthy. Everything was in slow motion until my eyes saw what they did, and not only did it raise the hair on the back of my head, it made me wish I was bald up top.
Bald, because maybe then nothing could ruffle my hair from what I had set it to, and certainly no one. Maybe the skin I peeled off can grow into something more thicker, which can handle seeing things that revolt me and yet stay in the room. After all, that was my one bane - caring.
But this time it was different. This time it hurt because the care was for me, and I sought to protect myself. The more I tried to protect myself the more I sunk into that quicksand, and with every passing second I felt unwanted. Unwanted, undeserving, reeking of pathetic weakness, like caring can be.
"Caring and empathy seem to be a nice personality traits to have," a valued friend said to me, "but sometimes it hurts you way more."
That made me think, had I been devoid of this situation if I didn't care enough? Or if I didn't care at all? And the sad, but truly realistic answer was, yes.
It starts with caring about others, then you realise or are told that you care about others a lot and need to care about yourself too. And within that transition comes a spell of weakness that is exploited, like an unprotected part of your armour. In that confusion of whether to care for others or myself I lost perspective and either did both or neither. And when I was almost close to caring for myself, I was stabbed in my achilles Achilles heel.
Care not for something you wouldn't cry about, and cry not for something unworthy of caring. Yet with my damaged worth, I couldn't cry, having lost to my own belief systems and my inner emotions. My heart wept, and it flowed out tons of emotions which didn't translate onto my face.
Maybe, I had put on somebody else's skin.
I got up, and moved towards the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed I felt defeated by myself - shoulders slumped, arms on the side, head down, praying for a drop to fall, taking with it some of the weight on my head. But it never materialised, and I decided to move towards music.
Maybe if I knew all the things that took to save us,
I could fix the pain that bleeds inside of me.
Look in your eyes to see the same about me,
I'm standing on the edge and I don't know what else to give!
- Enrique Iglesias, Do You Know