The gates and my walls

 Legoshi B Indigo

So I watch how they build the gates high enough so the enemy can't come inside anymore. I take a deep breath, hoping the walls are strong enough.

I told to build them, so I wouldn't get hurt anymore.

But the enemie is inside. It's inside me. The gates were build for me to not get out of here, and not because the enemies would be coming. Because me, if anyone, know that they won't be coming back to me. They do not hope for the best and remember only the times when we still had something else than shattered past. It's me, who will go back to them. Giving the chances and getting hurt again. Trying to make it right again after it all has already fallen. The dust is still there, so it's way too soon.

I still look for a while how the walls gets higher and higher, until I walk away. I walk back to this palace, which some people call home. I call it home. It's the place where I'm safe from it all, and I have built this palace by myself. Made it feel like home, put the carbets on the floors and brought in lights so I will see when it's dark in here and not just in my mind. I have made it feel warm, when the emptiness inside me feels colder than ice.

My eyes wander to the windows that are so high that they made me feel even smaller. I squint my eyes before walking to the bathroom. 

The floor in here is always cold. It feels like the room would know how many tears I have left in here. How many whispers and secrets these walls keeps inside them.

One foot...then the other...and I sit down in the bathtub. There is no water yet. But I turn on the faucet and let the warm water start tu fill up the bathtub, making my clothes wet.

My hair would still drip black water when wet. It's not so long ago when I colored it in to a deeb black. In some lights, you could be able to capture the blue tone on it too...

I stare at my own hands that feels strange to me. I feel so disengaged to my own body. I know the light switch inside me has been clicking on and off for a while now and it makes it even harder for me to memories the moments and places I have been in. Somedays I do remember everything more clearly, but on some days the darkness just blurrers out everything, making it harder to see even a little bit of the colors that used to be so bright they would remind me of spring or summer times...

The water starts to flow over the bathtub edges...

And so shall I put my head underwater. Scream loudly, so it makes the bubbles which appears instead of sound to feel more like they are the one panicking. Scream the emptiness out from myself.

 This way others won't hear me suffer. Just me and the water. Me and the blurriness around me.

Wrong, wrong, wrong

English version of the one I juat posted about Naseria. This was translated by translate app!

Naseria

My room

I can't put it into words, as we've been taught.

Not in the way it's supposed to be put into words, like people put their clothes on. That would be an obvious and easy way. Easy. Easy for someone else, maybe another me on a timeline between different dimensions, but not for me who is now standing in the middle of a room that feels empty. There's a bed, a rug, a shelf, a table...and lots of other stuff. It's empty in the way that someone has been here and put my stuff in different places than where I had put them. The stack of books on the table was back on the bookshelf and not even in the same order as when it was on the table, it was now in the same row, in the same place, and so were the books on the floor that I had left unfinished while reading. The gaps that had been left open were now closed, and I had no memory of which pages I was on in five different books.
It doesn't help, no matter how hard I try to breathe. It doesn't help, even though my hand gets lost in my hair and pulls at the thicker hair growing on the back of my neck. My hand jerks and tugs at it more and more furiously. More anxiously, more irritated. My heart beats its way out of my chest and my breath, which travels as oxygen in my lungs and comes out as carbon dioxide, feels more like cement at the back of my lungs. It tears at the alveoli, burns like bitter smoke. My fingertips start to prickle at the same time as my lips tingle in the way they do just before a possible fainting spell. I do feel the ground swaying beneath my feet before that and I see how the floorboards seem to undulate higher.


I sit down. But not on my bed, which is now made in a different way than I was used to before. Every day. My stuffed animals were in the wrong order, and just thrown on top of my bed. They were supposed to be neatly arranged in their own places, in rows to take care of each other and keep each other company.


The carpet has been vacuumed.


I look at the hairy surface of the carpet, the little nits that came out from the edge of the carpet, but they were in such messy rows and not arranged in straight lines.


The clothes.


No. No no.


They have been taken away. All the ones that were on the floors, ready so that it was easy for me to put them on and find what I wanted to wear at any time. Now they would be in the wash, in laundry bags, and I would not know when they would come out of the washing machine and be dry again. Ready for me to use. What am I going to wear now? My wardrobe is overflowing with clothes, but they are not exactly the clothes that had been here. The clothes I liked to wear the most because they didn’t have chafing seams, constricting necklines, or strong smells from laundry detergent.


I put my head on my knees. I breathe. I try that over and over again, without understanding why this had to happen. The feeling won’t go away, it presses against my sternum until it makes me cry. And yet the weight doesn’t go away. It feels like it’s pressing down on me endlessly, and tears won’t wash it away. Tears just make my nose stuffy and breathing become all too laborious again.


It was my room, my stuff, my mess.


It should have been mine to clean, mine to touch. Even if it looked like a dump and I’d been told off for cleaning it for the fourth time and living in chaos.


Why did anyone else have to touch it, touch mine. It causes this feeling that was just too hard to get rid of for a long time. It would come back again and again until there was nothing left. Until everything was the way it was supposed to be again, and that would take weeks. That feeling would remind itself every time I needed something and I couldn't find it because someone else had touched it and put it in the wrong place

The safe

Licìa & Miracle

 I gasp the air to my lungs, without getting any.

I try one more time until I feel again how heavy is the thing on my chest. It presses my heart and lungs, making my small heart panick.

The feeling of not getting hold of any of the stuff I try to reach, how black and white it all seems.

Can someone turn the light back on oe hold a candle for me until I am able to hold one by myself again?

The battle feels hard. Like something that I could never win. A race, where my feets are glued on the ground while everyone else are allowed to run free.

Until...

I feel your hand on my shoulder. Yet I still struggle to see anything at all.

I feel your warm hands around me, and new feeling starts to fill my chest. The feeling of being safe. 

You are my candle in the darkness.

You struggle aswell, but somehow you still manage to bring light to my world too. 

And I promise to hold your hand, if you will hold mine too. For the eternity, starting from here.