Feelings of Divergence

I am writing this, half-inspired by the book Divergent (which I am currently reading), and half-inspired by nothing but an urge to write.

Or maybe, I'm just making up excuses. Maybe not.

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I know what and how I feel, and that is what taunts me. I feel alone and lonely. I'm unsure how I would fair towards that feeling - if it should comfort knowing I felt alone, or that I should feel worse knowing how I felt... how I'm feeling.

I feel like all the warmth has been emptied from me. Sometimes the memory of me, all smiling and laughing, seems distant and obscure. I seem to forget how it was to be me. I didn't feel like doing anything. I'd rather stare at the night sky, looking for nothing. I'd rather be caressed by the cold January wind, than feel the coldness inside of me.

Many times I would feel like crawling to bed, hiding myself under the sheets. I want to curl just like I did when I was in my Mother's womb. I would rather sleep - it was my escape from conscious thinking. For the first time, it hurt to think. It wasn't stimulating my curiosity; it was stimulating my sadness.

And the worse thing is that I know how to get out of this. I know the solution is to forget and forgive, to go out and celebrate life, to smile and let out. But somehow, I am consumed by the thought of being dragged into this feeling; like opium or drug - it was addicting.

But let me tell you this: I was sane enough to bring myself up, to not fall in this pit of melodrama. I picked myself up, trying my best to contain the little that I have left. I mustered the little happiness and faith that was in me, and I tried to radiate it the best that I can.

But I feel like I was robbed. I was robbed of my friends. I was robbed of honesty. I was robbed of the right to not be judged. I was robbed of the kindness and gentleness I once had, that I wish I still have.

Deep down, I was hurt, hurt to my very core.

I would like to blame, to take revenge, but the thought of it seems so repelling I can't contain it long enough. The pain swells to my throat, making my heart race half a heartbeat quicker than it should. I would want to cry, to release all the pain, but nothing would come out. I hope the time comes that I may let it out.

Now, I barely care if anyone understands me, or tries to. I am starting to get used to being lonely and alone. The prospect of eating by myself, walking in hallowed walls without anyone beside me, doesn't seem to scare me anymore. But I know, sometimes, I would still feel empty.

I'm happy. I'm happy I let this out.