Quite simply, we are just like them. We blink and we breathe and we cry. If they cut us, we will bleed. When we get in the way, we excuse ourselves. We read books for assignments and sneeze when allergy season closes in around us. Allergy season, however, is not the only thing that closes in around us. We plummet into periods of strangeness, only tickling the surface of sanity. We wonder what it is that should define us, if it could define us. Quite simply, we are just like them. But this is not simple at all.
We cannot explain our rudeness because we have no explanation. Years of neglect cause our feelings to erupt at spontaneous moments and we pay dearly. At times, we wonder why we exist and others we force our existence upon ourselves. "Why," we ask ourselves, "do I deserve this?"
We are capable of extreme damage. Some of us, we hold ourselves back. We tell ourselves that it could be us feeling so down, we say that we've been there. These of us are the ones who damage ourselves. We push those thoughts, the angry, hurt, painful thoughts deep into a place that can only be described as darkness. They become lost. We become lost. Once again we cause a ripple in the water, the beginning of a tsunami in ourselves. We are gasping for breath underneath the surface, flailing for the faintest solid object; a feather, to grasp onto.
This is the only way we can describe ourselves. We do not have proper descriptions.
The others of us, the ones who cannot control themselves, these are the healthiest. These of us can be saved. These ones know how to show what we feel. We take pictures and bring them to life with actions. Our thoughts are vibrant and sure, strong and firm. We speak with passion and utter, utter pain. We know that we must hurt them before they hurt us. And these of us are the soldiers. We are not wise at all, but we are able to fool ourselves. We have grasped the feather, but broken it with our strength. The fair hairs have withered away.
We all are problematic, and yet we do not know the problem.
On the surface, we are just like them. But we are not on the surface. We are located somewhere deep in the caves of our minds. We lurk there, occasionally catching glimpses of normality around the playful corners. But we cannot leave. We do not have that choice, because we do not have a reason to leave. We have never been advised to leave, we don't know which way is out. We are afraid. On the surface, we are just like them. But we are not on the surface at all.