I have a good life but I just can’t be happy, no matter what I do the depression always consumes me. An insomniac since birth, I’m up night and day and always so lonely. I feel like life has left me. I’m just a shell with no reason to be. God, I’m so, so empty! No one understands how I feel and they never will because it’s too complex to believe. So I’ll do what I’ve always done. Hold the tears in until I’m too sad to cry and laugh out loud though I’m dying inside, while reciting a silent prayer in hopes that one day, life will come back to me and there by my side will be somebody.

“My world falls apart, crumbles, “The center cannot hold.” There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation. I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought. I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going—and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. I long for a noble escape from freedom—I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. There is nowhere to go … “–Sylvia Plath, journal, November 3, 1952

Bro/ken 

              Slipping away

Problems past

Robbed of youth

Bro/ken

              Searching

Finding nothing

I’m nowhere

Bro/ken

              Seeing

I’m blind

Running out of time

Bro/ken

             Sinking

Inside of me

I’m lost.

            

© 2010 Jennifer L. Brooks