Doctor Doctor.

2.5.10

I am scared—utterly terrified. I am a blind man on the edge of a cliff, not even knowing that the fall ahead of me will be forever. I’m paralyzed by a system designed to care, without the actual means of doing so. And I will stay this way. Not, of course, because I intend to, but because I have to—I am FORCED to. I do not know what tomorrow holds in store for me, and I’m horrified by the future. How will I know if my life is spent? A morbid witness, I have seen as much as the Angel of Death herself. How then, do I not also wonder about everything I’ve always known? When life is consumed with death, how can I not puzzle over my own, or over every concept that is or about the matter? So much time spent mourning over frozen graves of names I’ll never forget…. When the bright morning comes I’m still left with a broken heart and memories of those who left. It’s intoxicating to drown in that much sorrow. And, of course, once you lose something you never can become the person you were before, regardless of how good or bad it may be. I am consumed with my own intoxication, drowning in the things that may or may not be. I fret over every detail, every possibility; left like a claustrophobic schizophrenic trapped in an elevator—not knowing if I’m going up or down, in or out, or if I’ll be stuck in this rut forever—frantically terrified of every second of it. When will I be free of my intoxication, of this morbid fascination that has chained me in its sorrows? Tired and weary, I wait for the freedom to come in the knowledge that is owed me.

-Serenity Elizabeth