Karaline

A ominous drone follows me everywhere I go. The sound, like a small fly buzzing in my ear. As if there is some metaphysical hum that blows its sound in my direction. It scratches and cradles in my mind as if though it was a caring mother.

The more I sit still, the more I let other sounds die down, the more I hear it. Its deafening whine. And I can't. make. it. stop. It keeps growing and growing everyday eating more a my mind, at my thoughts, at my sanity. I can;'t make it out, I can barely focus on it.

It's so loud I could cry, i could tear at my head, desperately viciously ripping it bit bit. To dissect it and just make it stop I want it to stop so badly I want to be normal, I want it to just be quiet to not suffocate me in its dissonance. To not cause discord within my mind's eye.

It will not end well, for someone… No, something like me. What could I ask for. Maybe its an alarm, a bell that chimes to mark the end of something, or the beginning. It echoes and bounces in my head like a metaphorical bullet. Each point hit, each crevice touched, each edge reached. Cause fractures within the case it lives in.

If its the end then what of? My sanity? My hope? My life? What moper could it drown out? What more can it take and leaved discarded like roadkill?

If its the beginning, when does that start? Has it already begun? Is it the beginning of the end? IS it the beginning of a new passage, a new path paved before me? Is that path worth walking?

This droning leaves me with so much questions. The incessant noise that follows me from the bed to outside.

I'm catatonic. I'm left staring at the ceiling asking for whether or not I deserve to live. I find the answer no. I have always found it as a resounding no.

How could I ask for that. How could something like imagine deserving any more than oblivion, than an end.

This will not make you happy, there is no joy, no positive experience I can spin for you. I don't want to, not because you don't deserve it but because I think I don't. I have fallen into a shallow graves, one that has come to encompass my very being. I want to believe it gets better, and most of the time I can.

I'm a walking cacophony of hypocrisy and contradiction. I loathe myself, my voice, my body, my mind, my spirit, and my soul. But I love, I want, I ask, and I strive. To give more than I deserve. To not be the mass of burden I consider myself to be. I foul myself for every breath I take, but adore the respire of kin, of a lover, and of life.

I can with efficacy point to my every shortcoming, every flaw I can muster for a "person". But I ca tell you that every person, especially you are perfect. You are the culmination of the world's effort. You being here, you trying is something beautiful.

You are a beautiful.

How could I ever be that? How could something like every aspire to be that, to be perfect every life is. How do I live up to that? I have no passion, no drives, no "human spirit." No discipline. No note worthy characteristic every other person seems to have. No hobbies that are just simply distraction. I am not good at anything, i am not worth anything and I will never be anything.

I hate you, I hate everything you made me feel, everything you make me want to be. I hate that you choose me, you choose to spend your time o me, that you this and this specific subject. That you think I am worth talking about. I hate you, i hate everything ABOUT ME, EVERYTHING I DON'T REACH AND I WILL NEVER BE AND ITS YOUR FAULT, ITS YOUR CHOICE TO PUT ME HERE, IT WAS YOUR WHIM THAT CAUSED THIS WITHIN ME

WHY?

Why did you choose me?

Why do I have to be?

Something, anything?

Be everything and nothing at the same time. I am an empty slate, a canvas no one wanted to paint on, a template no one chooses, a song with no tempo of note, a melody with no rhyme or reason. I am nothing, and I always will be.

But I have to be, or the droning will go in, its quiet hum will pursue me, a chiming bell to remind me of everything that I am. Nullity. The sound in empty space, the blink of a eye, a room without light. A void of nothing.

Its sound will ground me, will pull me from ever just letting go, keeping me from the next step.

That's what transitioning will be for me. What it has been. The more I look and hope for the body I want the more I realize just how much I am missing, how much I am just fragments of a thing, a silhouette of a person. I don't blame you, ultimately you don't know me. But someone does, something does, someone will know not of me but about me. I am not something to be an "of." I am to be seen and never perceived, because all you will perceive is an outline, a poorly drawn image of a thing, A shadow of life.

How can I be alive? How am I alive?