Whoever said that time heals all wounds has obviously never presided in the depths of hell. Life is not better six months down the line. It is worse. Much worse. All time has done is carry on while the visions of evil that dance in my head, whether awake or asleep. The voices get louder and it gets harder to drown them out. Too many days, I just want to give in. I know one of these days, I will. But not yet.
Liars and heffalumps. That is what the world is full of. Everyone is in it for their own use. Their own gain. Trust is word that is thrown around, yet no one really knows what it means. Or how it applies. In the initial opening of a tragedy, everyone wants a part. But then life goes on around the ones suffering, who are left to deal with their own heads and hearts. Left alone to try to make sense of the disaster that has become the new normal. Trying to wade thru the mire that is now their reality. All move on with the day to day, while the victim suffers in silence, knowing that everyone else is just sick to fucking death of hearing it all. Forgotten except as a brief afterthot. Left to wonder why, and is it even worth it. No one can ever know the despair. The chest crushing pain. The feeling that the tears will never stop. The staring out the window and wondering where an hour just went. The silence that was once filled with laughter. The apathy, and complete lack of direction or ambition. The trying so hard to appear strong, but feeling like you are in a million pieces that will never fit back together.
The agony.
