Opposites Detract

Here I am again, a night like many others; a re-run on an old rabbit-eared TV, static and fuzz annoyingly interrupting the black and white sitcom that plays itself over and over again.  Except, this is no ordinary sitcom, this pathetic re-run is my life.

I cry silently, my pillow swallowing up my many tears.  Again.  I feel small.  Very, very small; scrunched up on the outer-limits of my side of the bed, feeling like an orphan, an alien; a person with no place to rest and be safe, no place to call home.

And you snore.

Loudly.

In the middle of the bed.

Your worries have passed over you like a cloud blown swiftly over the sun and slumber has enveloped you, as it always does. 

You are as deep as a mud puddle.  Should I be envious or discouraged?  Envious that you live such a simple life, or discouraged that you experience so little; there are oceans in this world you've never dipped a toe in; you prefer your mud puddle.  You are content with small, explainable, ordinary things.  But not I.  Ordinary is death to me.  It is death to me.

The numbness sets in again.  Hatred is hot, but numbness is cool.  Stick me, poke me, cut me; it's okay.  I'm numb.  Burn me, shoot me, beat me; it's okay.  I'm numb.  Lash out, spew your bitterness with your voice raised high, clench your fist as you stand there with your arms crossed and eyes glaring; it's okay.  I'm numb.  Slit me and see if there is anything left in me to bleed out; I dare you, go ahead.  Take me to the dessert like you said, finish me off.  I dare you.  I beg you.  I invite you.  Finish me off so I can finally die, put me out of my misery.  Then leave me.  Like you said you would.  Leave my corpse and let it be.

Let me be.

Let me be, and believe me to be dead.  Believe me to be dead so she will live, the she in me that defies death; this death in daily doses.  She will rise like the phoenix and life will fill her veins again, and this time she will fly.  She will fly to lands exotic to her, lands that fill her soul with the essence of life; lands she has always dreamed of but never seen.

Lands without tear-soaked pillows and broken spirits, never able to fully mend. 

Or.....

You could just continue snoring.

And wake up tomorrow.

And live another day of this re-run life.