It all started with an open window. The day that window was opened, all the reality set in.
I had lived in my own little naïve and perfect world all my life, unaware of how unrealistic my life really was. My escape had been a room, consisting of just four walls and a window with nothing on the other side. This is where I had been totally isolated all these years.
I wasn’t lonely; the term loneliness didn’t even exist in my vocabulary. I was perfectly happy and clam, left to imagine and daydream about my interpretation of the outside world. But the day finally came when I learned that my daydreams were really all but dreams.
In that room where my utopia had existed all these years, a window was opened, and I was then aware of everything from the outside world. All the happiness and love, but also all the sadness and hate.
I guess you could say I couldn’t handle it all, of course who would. I wanted it to go back to the way it was before. But what had happened couldn’t be taken back, the hurt would still be there.
For months I’ve been sitting here, not knowing how to react. I’ve gone through all the steps of depression and grief. I was depressed about the things I had learned and grieving over how much I had changed. I was a different person now, and the other person who I was before, had died. I guess you could say I was grieving over old memories.
Indeed, wouldn’t it be sad if someone were to die and be forgotten. That’s not even a question, it’s a statement. It would be sad and that is why I am writing this note. In memory of my old innocent mind and my current self.
As I sit here writing and leaving my only memory on this world, I’m writing with my right hand and holding a blade to my neck in my left. I guess you really could say I couldn’t handle it all.
an old memory…
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