Today I Cry Again

Today I cry again, partly for thoughts that can never be shared - written or otherwise. Private, secret thoughts and images that a woman should never see or think.

I cry, too, because I am lonely and because I have sought help and because I am afraid and uncertain. I cry, too, because as I write Ekopi (an autobiographical skeleton of what is my umpeenth attempt at trying to tell my story), I experience things I wish to not experience.

I learn things, I wish I didn't know about myself but some part of me is glad to learn. The smart part of me, I suppose, is glad to know it.

Then part of me wishes to just stay ignorant. To carry daydreams of a sheer, white, flowing dress, blowing in the wind amid a field of wildflowers as my lover looks on, protecting me, guarding me, keeping me safe. Carefree and unburdened. Desperately in love and safe.

Safe.

This place does not feel safe to me anymore. It was already unsafe, but now even more so.

And my thoughts - so erratic and irrational - that I find myself hard to live with.

I could never have the audacity to compare myself to him, but my all-time favorite author - Edgar Allan Poe - held such deep sorrow in his heart and despair and it contributed greatly to his creativity and brilliance as an author.

I know, now, what courage that must have taken for him. For him to delve so deeply into his own wounded psyche and dig and dig and dig and find the darkest truths, the most monstrous of our capabilities and the most macabre thoughts that we cannot admit we think.

There are few that I can talk to. Or, at least, few I can tell the truth to.

But lately it seems like the idea of giving up gets easier and easier every day.

I keep seeking help.

There is none.

Not for a girl like me.

Again, I just want to run away. Run away, run away. God I wish I could just fly...just fly away. But the truth is, every time I've run away, I was deluded by the illusion of freedom. I was never free.

I am still not free.