I often have that melancholy feeling within the holes in my heart that aches for something to hold onto. I feel like a fool for always blaming my pains and loneliness on the loss of my mother. Guilt tripping myself into a mental prison that I thought inescapable, I remember wanting to fall in love with a beautiful, young, intelligent and witty girl to fill the empty spaces that burdened my heart, to be honest I still want to be in love, or just have someone to love. Everyone wants that. They exist as long as I experience the moments in life that are repeatedly placed in front of me.
I’ll admit it I’m scared. I’m scared because I feel like I’m still trapped in 3rd grade still. I feel as if I’m still in the nurse’s office after injuring myself by rushing forward at recess, the only hour of freedom we had back t hen. My legs pushing forward as fast as my small framed body could go. Not paying attention to the world in front of me, my eyes locked upon the friends behind me. Still rushing forward I turn around and as I do my head makes a collision with the metal column of the playground that we kids called our castle of joy.
My body falls flat down and my eyes shut my body lays still, no tear drops, no smile upon my face. I was stuck in a state of temporary dreaming. I awoke hours later with a mountainous wound upon my forehead. I swing my feet down from the nurse’s bed and I am told to lie back down and wait for my mother to come get me. This injury I sustained is the second I had gotten. The first was given by my brother unbeknownst to him.
We were in our room and he took my favorite teddy bear and tossed it out the door, I wept and began to run after it. Not paying attention to my surroundings i run head first into the door way. The mountain appears upon my forehead for the first time. The doctor advises my mother to make sure this doesn’t happen again, because if it happens more than twice I could get brain damage and possibly die.
When I get to the doctor’s with this second mountainous lump upon my head. The doctor tells me to be careful because if it happens again, I could die. My head couldn’t take another blow like the first two again.
After all these years of growing up and aging and learning things, I still feel like I’m still stuck in 3rd grade awaiting for my mother to come and grab me from the nurse’s office because I hurt myself. I’m hoping that maybe my life is dream because maybe
Just possibly I’m not this alone, or scared or unprepared for the path that I have chosen to walk.