The confession

Dear diary

I am a murderer and this is my confession.

First of all, I want you to know I was not always this way. I was not always a murderer and a cold blooded person. I was born and raised in a beautiful warm normal environment. My life was okay up to the point that is was not anymore. I was taught to look at the positive direction until there was nothing positive to look at, I was taught to never lose hope until hope was the last thing to lose. I was taught to believe in God even when nothing seems to be working out. I was taught that I had a destiny until I realized I make my own destiny.

From the moment I was born, from the moment I started to understand and comprehend the complexes of life, i  was taught and reassured that I have a part to play in this world. It doesn’t matter what that part is but it is important for the world to be a better place. I was given hopes, I was given knowledge on how I can perfectly play that part. But somewhere along the lines I lost my family. Not that they were gone but they lost connection with me, they didn’t see me or what I was going through.

Sometimes it felt like I was drowning in an ocean, and every day that goes by I was sinking deeper and deeper in the ocean of loneliness and confusion and they did not notice. Even when I try to tell them they would look me with confused faces wondering what I am struggling over when they are all doing just fine not knowing that I was trying so hard to keep my head above the water.

Then one day I fell in love with a boy, he loved me or so I like to think, he became my source of comfort, he was there for me, he understood me and listened to me. He was my only chance of hope, my only chance at redemption until one day he decided he would not talk to me anymore. At some point I knew that was going to happen because he was the light and I was the dark... the two could never meet, I just didn’t know it was going to be so soon. But now that it was here I could not shake off the feeling that I was never enough for him, that no matter how hard I tried I just could never be enough. I had imagined this pain several times but I was wrong, this was more than I had ever imagined.

Then when the pain ended I became empty. I didn’t know what to feel and I needed to feel something to know I was alive, I began to cut myself, enthralled by what the razor could do. I am addicted to the pain and when it is not there I have to create it. I hurt myself, sometimes I have no idea how deeply I do it, but without it my body feels like a lonely temporary container that I happen to be borrowing.

I never tried to hurt anyone consciously, but every time I stand naked in front of my mirror, the scars on my body remind me of the demons i fought at 3 am when everyone was sleeping, the insecurities and the lonely nights, the depressions and the feelings of rejections I couldn’t contain, they also remind me how I have changed, how self centered and cruel I have grown to be. I have become the kind of person who could use a lame excuse to inflict pain on a person I cared for a wound that would never heal.

The jovial funny girl who used to have lots of friends no longer exist, the girl who used to spend weekends in the library now spends it in the bathroom thinking of the way to make pain more painful, the girl who could not hurt a fly now enjoys to inflict pain on herself and others, the brave girl I used to see in the mirror is a distant memory that no longer exist.

Dear diary, am a murderer, I killed the girl I used to be.

The untold story....

Dear diary,

For a very long time in my life I used to be this lonely person. With a good smile on my face I could deceive everyone around me that I was happy and okay but in reality, it I wasn’t even close to knowing what real happiness looked like. While my friends would talk everything through, analyze or even hypothesize, I knew deep in me that my life was not like their lives. I was different, lonely and a part of me that had nothing to do with the physical appearance was already dead. I remember there were days that I would get up, shower and get on with my life as if everything was okay but there were also days when I would like awake in bed wondering what was the point of me getting out of bed and pretend to be like everyone else.

With time I developed a hobby, every night I would sit on my bed, write a letter to Jesus, telling him everything about my life and how I feel. Most times I would write them with tears streaming down my face because it was the kind of loneliness that ate me up from the inside. Let no one lie to you, It is an awful thing to be battling with yourself because you feel you can’t not talk about it. Deep down you know you can never win the battle yet you fight it day after day and it wears you down and even if you try to ignore it the energy it takes to ignore it exhausts you. At the end of every letter I would say a prayer and burn it. I don’t know if Jesus ever received any of my letters but what I do know is it did help me feel better.

They say life is what you make of it but I think life is what you face. I remember how I used to hold on to my depression and loneliness because I was so scared that the worst part of me could actually be the whole of me, until one day he came along. I had never thought of myself as anything but plain, ordinary and sometimes a dead walking person until he came along. The way he looked at me, he pulled something out of me that I never knew existed. When I wanted to hide he would urge me forward, when I thought I wasn’t good enough he made me believe I was and every time I felt I was anything but pretty he would convince me that I am beautiful. Being around him made me feel special in a way I cannot explain. These are some of the good memories in my life that I would want to hold on forever though with them comes the pain of Knowing all that was done yesterday.

Today am here alone and lonely like a ghost, it feels like am in the worst place that I was before he came to my life... am like a girl who is lost in space and all the effort she makes to connect to the earth she once lived and enjoy end up in vain. I am like the girl that you see in a photograph with a big smile who will soon be gone and erased from the history of this world like a traitor in the Soviet Union. It’s funny how he is the one broken yet I am the one who needs saving. Sometimes it feels like this will never end, it feels like the world would never stop crushing me until there is nothing left of me.

Dear diary, I wonder if anyone around me can tell just from looking at me that am the sum total of my pain that the wound in me is so raw and extreme that it might be terminal. I wonder if they can tell how lost I am without him, how soulless I have become, how I have become like a drifter without a home, a solitary bird in a flight to nowhere, how I long for him to show me how to live again. I am all these things and am nothing at all. There are times when I feel like I cannot maintain the facade any longer that I may start to show through and I wish he would just tell me nothing has changed.

You know, the worst part of loving someone is that there will always be things you can’t protect them from. You finally realise there is something worse than dying and its having something happening to them because It does not matter how much or how closely you keep your eye on things because there will always be things that you cannot control. The people you love can go missing right before your very eyes and there is nothing you can do about it. But again this does not mean one should not try to fight for his/ her happiness?  If everyone who thought they might fail didn’t try where would we be today??

I think about him and everything we have shared every hour of everyday, part of me is scared that there will come a day when he does not feel the same way. When he has somehow forgotten what we have shared and dreamed of together....