I’m an outsider in my own world. Being apart of something larger than life has closed its doors to me. I’ve been losing friends, and it hurts like razor blades. I’ve received a bleeding tattoo on my heart and the scabs continue to be picked off. My grasp on reality is slowly slipping away. The possibility of remaining sane has shrunk to the size of a pea. Soon all that’ll be left of me is my journal and the two before it. If I last long enough, writing at the rate I’m going, maybe a few more after it. So people can read all about my mind that was, instead of gray, a rainbow of colors. Maybe I have a tumor up there somewhere that’s forcing me to tremble and collapse, call upon my emotions to tell me how to feel.

I know I’m not the only one in the world who’s gone through what I have, but I feel so alone and scared. It’s like I have to hide from myself to make it through each passing day. Things would be so much easier if I could just forget and never had to face the truth. Instead, memories and thoughts plague me all day long. The thought of the divorces, screaming and yelling, losing everything you had, moving, crying, praying, and hoping never seem to vanish. I miss Douglas, my house, Katie, the shop, my friends, Grandma Kay, Uncle Jeff, Poppy, my dad that I thought I knew…basically my life. Everything is slowly coming unraveled and the nights are long and cold.
It takes heart to pretend everything is just fine, and heart is one thing I’m lacking anymore. All that’s left of mine is devoted to Joee. There’s no room for anything else. The world’s lights are dimming, and it’s almost time to get off stage. I wonder how people would act if one day I just didn’t wake up. Would they cry, or would they laugh? Would they miss me, or would they soon forget as so many of my ‘friends’ have done? Will I inspire them, or will I just be a girl they knew, nothing special? I’m scared to sleep because my eyelids feel so heavy. They might never wake up again. The world’s colors will mix together to form total blackness and leave me lonely and hurting, but no less than I do now.
I feel like I’m holding someone else’s burden, too; I am carrying too much. I asked Austin (from French) today if he was okay, because he seemed kind of down lately. He said he wasn’t okay. He didn’t want to go to school, or do anything anymore. I asked him why. He said his little brother has cancer and he might, too. My first thought was oh my gosh. This was a boy who, just a couple weeks ago, seemed to not have a single care in the world. Now he had the whole world to care about. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, even though I know I shouldn’t. Pity is the last thing any person wants. But I feel like I should do something for him, help him have the best time of his life. If he does or doesn’t have cancer, it doesn’t matter; he could die tomorrow.
I feel a little ashamed that it took me this long to want to get involved in somebody’s life like so. I just don’t know what to do to help him. Words to give him emotional strength are just that – simple words. To some people they can mean everything, to others they can mean absolutely nothing at all. I just want a way to help him get through this. Something more than just praying. The Lord does a lot, but so can I. Helping is all I can do for him. I can’t cure his brother, I can’t wave a magic wand and undo everything and make him forget. But I can be there for him, and I can help him cope.
I just wish there was more I could do. He deserves more years than what he’s got before he ever even had to think about dealing with something like this. I feel kinda selfish worrying about all of my problems when there are people in my school going through a rough time, also. The fact that problems and their significance to different people is laying heavily on every person’s shoulders. The hunger to feel sorry for oneself is whispering in everyone’s ear, our own personal devil. I want to help people get through things, help them open their eyes after the storm has passed and bask in the sunlight. Even during thunderstorms there are rays of glorious sunshine somewhere. You just have to take the steps to find them.
There’s a reason the Irish have a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; it’s the equivalent to the American light at the end of the tunnel. And all sorts of other worldly clichés. Finding the path to the light is just the first step. Making all the best of the journey are the steps that come after that.