Sick Of Feeling


Everything is ready. There isn’t a single detail that she hasn’t thought of. From the moment of discovery to the nonchalant disregard of what she has done. Every minute detail has been outlined so that this irritating interruption won’t prevent them from going back to whatever it was they were doing.

The note will be found of her brief goodbyes with explanations and excuses as to why, like anyone cares enough to read it or give a damn. If that were the case she wouldn’t have ran away in the first place. None-the-less here she sits, alone with all the loose ends tied. Contemplating her decision, she reminds herself of many life events that has led her up to this moment.

Bound in a loveless marriage consumed by loneliness and driven to the realm of irrationality. Why trick her into forever promising of a life of endurance full of love and happiness for better or for worse? It was he who dropped down on one knee and requested her hand in marriage. How is it possible to toss someone away so easily as if they are a disgusting piece of trash when all they did was hand over what was left of their heart? Why is it that she has become this thing that is so unlovable and discarded? Questions that’ll never be answered, warranted or not and she hasn’t enough tears to mourn the love that’s been stolen from her.

A woman who desperately needs and wants that love. To be held in the morning and kissed goodnight. Getting laid is tiresome, she yearns to be made love to by a real man who would grant the courtesy to hold her and stay next to her when the act itself was over. She would give anything to listen to a strong beating heart with arms tightly wrapped around her. To feel safe and wanted, not to be cast aside and used only for servitude and pleasure, none of which is hers. This irony is the cruelest and as she sits contemplating her dead heart, she realizes that it doesn’t matter because she never mattered. There hasn’t been a soul in her lifetime that has stuck by her. They are all long gone. Hence the reason she’s here now.

She managed a home by her own hand as best she knew how, only to be told that it wasn’t good enough. Nothing she’s done nor will ever do, would be good enough. Failing those who need guidance only to be pushed back to keep her away. Well, now they won’t have anything to complain about for she will forever be gone. Again, not as if they care. It’ll be many passing hours before anyone even notices her absence and it’s already too late.

Tots come running with arms open wide because they need you and love you unconditionally. But as time passes that prerequisite is no longer and now she finds that her course has run.  There isn’t a need nor do they want her any longer. Taken what they could until there was no more. So she’s decided to remove herself so that there will be no more burden of her spirit.

As for all that’s sacred and held close to her heart now belongs to others, perhaps its rightful owner. There wasn’t a lot to give away but what was given was the last little piece of her that will linger. Of course those pieces will inevitably become lost, sold, or stolen because those who are to care for them won’t. They care for nothing that doesn’t benefit them monetarily. And since the flow of her cash will stop, so will their wish to hold anything that was important to her.

Plans are set for the ritual after her body is found. It is all bought and paid for so there will be no need to piss and moan about the added expense. After all, she wouldn’t want to put them out anymore than she already has. Just one more reason for her to run far away. By the time anyone discovers what she has done, all will be disposable. The body, clothes, and the car. The old Junker is one that also isn’t wanted so there will be no quarrel about what is to be done with it. Simply get rid of it. Or perhaps the conduit of motion will be the piece that’s most upsetting. Weariness escapes with breath from her lips.

Funny how perspective is within full sight and how sad that’s it not possible share it with anyone. But that’s always how it’s been and remains so. There is no one that cares for her and it will persist if she chooses to continue this morbid existence. Born as a person who beseeches to be loved yet has drowned in a sea of loneliness. This is an ugly life and she is no longer willing to trudge through it. Only half way there and already she’s to give in. And how can she not, the pain of living is unbearable. Every breath that enters her lungs burns of acid that eats its way through and soon there will be no more to consume for she will be hollow. No longer will it be just her heart that’ll ache. The agony will inevitably devour her entire mind, body, and soul.  The torture of such a life is unbearable and she’s unwilling to accept it.

The cold, heavy steel provides her with the power of death as it rests in her palms. Shouldn’t it bother her that she’s not even remotely terrified of it? There are no tears, there are no regrets, and there are no sentiments. Sober and alone she perceives this as her only way out.

The loaded firearm beckons her. The only thing left to do is what must be done. Inventing a ritual of her own, she plays the song that’s been her favorite since childhood. It loudly passes through the speakers as she brings the barrel of the gun to the bottom of her right temple just above her cheek bone. The metal is cold and a shiver surges down her spin. Fear? Sadly it’s not, it’s only a chill.

Instead of holding the pistol straight at the side of her head, she slightly angles the weapon skyward to make certain the job gets done. While the song continued to ring in her hears, she closes her eyes to indulge and reminisce of the happiest moment of her life. With the memory of those kind, sweet eyes and that gentle, beautiful smile she pulls the trigger.

4 thoughts on “Sick Of Feeling

      1. I love your words Shell! I haven’t been as active on everyone’s blogs since poetry month, but I’m trying to get back into it now. I love all the beauty and inspiration I find. ♡

        Liked by 1 person

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