everyone goes through it at some point, at least that’s what they say when you tell them stories about how you survived a clusterfuck of misfortunes and unfortunate losses. they argue about life and you roll your eyes at the irony of it all–here they are, telling you it’s gonna be okay because they know it’s not gonna be okay and you know that.
you sit alone in this room, you hear beeps of machines that keep you alive and it’s funny, ’cause you’re not even in the hospital and yet you hear sounds of systems that keep you from falling apart; ’cause it’s the logical thing to do when you feel the ground start to shake under your feet. it’s always easier to stay together than pick up pieces because no good ever comes out of sharp pieces shattered all over the place–only blood and wounds that never heal over time.
you’re not crazy. the voices in your head, they’re not your friend or your enemy. they’re years and years of rejection and walking away; and turning your back on the things you love because you’re told you can’t have it. you’re not crazy, and you repeat it to yourself everyday until you finally believe it.
they tell you the future is uncertain and it is, it’s always been for the last 23 years and you wonder sometimes how some other people seems to be as final as a period at the end of the sentence. you look at them and their smiling photos on social media and you wonder what you’re doing differently because one time, you’re all in college and now, you’re still a kid and you still look at the world as a puzzle you can’t figure out while the rest of them is running away with the realization that life is a swimming pool after all and they’ve swam, so far away from you; and you’re still stuck because you argue that life is a goddamn puzzle and you can’t possibly put it down.
because perhaps, it’s who you are; you’re never finished, final. and you always feel like an ellipsis, meant to be used when a thought is uncertain; and sometimes, fiction uses you for a dramatic pause. and it’s until you’re a couple of weeks before you turn 24 that you realize how you’ve been an ellipsis in a world full of periods and you just wish that sometimes, the thought process ends and you become a full sentence. but the world doesn’t allow that too many times and frankly, you’re so used to being just an unfinished thought that you’ve run out of fucks to give; and maybe life is better this way because why use a punctuation that holds such finality when you live in a world full of uncertainties anyway.
they tell you, welcome to the real world. and you scoff at the hypocrisy of it because you’ve been in the real world since you were four–the first time you realized you didn’t have a father to shield you from the boys and the girls who will hurt you; and you’ve been in the cruel reality that you’ve been an ellipsis since you were four and you sometimes wish you were an ampersand–solid and moving, and people keep thinking you’re a symbol but you’re a letter. and so much more than a replacement for a conjunction but you go back to being an ellipsis because it’s all you know.
you smile at small victories because small victories are all you’ve ever had; and it’s nice and heartbreaking at the same time. and you realize that it’s all you’ve ever been, nice and heartbreaking–and the cycle continues and it has never stopped for 23 years.
you realize the importance of understanding the concept of diversion for the first time ever today; because you’re out of medications for the first time in two weeks and you feel beaten and you have no choice but to feel this physical pain–because it’s literally been two weeks out of it, and all you’ve ever felt and heard are the voices in your head telling you you’re not good enough.
for the first time in a long time you wonder if you’re ever a thought within a parenthesis; something cool but isn’t necessary in the grand scheme of things and you realize that it’s better to be an ellipsis because sometimes, uncertainty matters and your weak lungs can never handle the thought of being someone’s tangible thought in a parenthesis.
it is until you write down your thoughts do you ever consider being a semi-colon; something that separates two independent thoughts; functions like a period but never as final. you find hope in being a semi-colon because it is precise and it promises you things like a conclusion or a follow-up thought but it’s never as final and dead as a period.
and you realize as you put away your stash of 500mg pain killers that physical pain is a good distraction; and it’s easier to deal with this than to deal with the demons under your bed, so you let yourself suffer but it’s okay because you’re saving your liver and kidneys for future use. and you smile because no one deserves to be an ellipsis. so today, you become a semi-colon.
so yes, you’re basically in the middle of heaven and hell which makes it the earth and today, you accept you’re human after all. and you’re not the earth after the big bang explosion. you’re still together, albeit barely, and it’s okay because now you know you’ve been a survivor since you were four.
you realize that you’re not anyone’s ellipsis. so you stop being so dramatic all at once.