Coping.

I believe this story has gone downhill, not with the plot but it appears that my fingers have become brittled and the river of thoughts dammed with their remains. As well, I am finally learning what it feels like to have someone believe in you, if only for a second. It shoots by like a passing car, but a moment later your hair is left to dance in the wind of good thoughts.
At home, there was only one person who I felt truly believed in me. He understood the sickness because he had his own and we were the coping mechanism in a world that thought they could get along with out us just fine. I am becoming to realize that even though our connections have diminished along with the hospital visits, both our brains are sagging under the weight of what we had to learn to get along at such a young age. It scares me so much I don't even want to describe it. Thinking to write down a note, and after looking down the words have become dislexic. From a young age I learned to cope with the difficulties of the ways I was hearing words not being the way everyone else did. Speech and remedials don't seem to be helping me now. I try to sound out words but they still don't come out right. I end up rewriting everyother word, and giving professors blank stares. Dumb and inept, I try to live up to a legacy that never existed in the first place. Maybe my skull is caving under the pressure of "you are so smart." The only thing I ever got smart about was coping, and these lessons aren't standing the test of time.
I have a professor who doesn't believe me when I say I'm a lost cause. I hope to god I prove him right.

Oh no.

How did this happen? I couldn't have let this happen, not again, not now. All these thoughts about nothing being perfect are becoming crippling, stunting my growth. The fears of connecting with people, the crying while driving, I'm seeming to think that its all spinning wildly out of control. Is it really still the safe kind of depression or is it real this time?
Oh but I won't let it go to far. There is no way that I'm letting all this work go down the tubes, even if it hasn't been work on the right dream, I cant let two years of college go. All just because I can't drive or shop with out thinking about how great everyone has it. Five years after my dad died and I still end up crying in a Target. Like really?
My former best friend at the time of my fathers death said that I should have been over it in about a week. That's a little over dramatic, but now, seriously? I'm going to be emotionally crippled for the rest of my life. I'm going to be crazy.
I feel crazy, I feel like i should be locked up. Mostly because I'm running out of ways to fix it. Maybe now I'm just being over dramatic, nicely coinciding with my diagnosis. I feel like I'm emotionally running away from everything, so I'm thinking physically running maybe the best bet. But its Philadelphia pre-spring at 7pm, and that's just not going to work out. And there's no way I can be around people in the gym and not cry, specifically skinny people. I guess I'll just brood for a while. When I do start running, don't expect me back for a while.

Five.

Almost five years. Five years of coping. Five years of sacrifice. Five years of fighting for a legacy. Five years of fixing. Five years of crying. Five years of believing what was most available. Five years of defending honor. Five years of being my mother's significant. Five years of growing up alone. Five years of taking care of everyone else. Five years of getting stepped on.Five years of being the man of the house. Five years of being an adult at 14. Five years of fake maturity. Five years, no dad. Five years, and I still miss him just as much.
Five years of learning to use my voice. Five years of being stronger. Five years of not needing anybody. Five years of learning who I am. Five years of learning what was best for me. Five years of growing out of the wreckage.
Five years, five years, five years. I never thought I would be here, I never would have guessed I would have made it. Five years spent being me, and this anniversary will not be a catalyst for change. Five years ago was. I will forge on. Five will become, ten, twenty, fifty. Fifty years of being me.

Chasing Home.

Paint me what home is.
Leave the directions on the table.
Cause I don't know.
If I'm doing this right.
One more chance to suffocate.
Or take a breath and see where it goes.
I'll follow the sky.

They'll let me know.
If you were wrong.
If this is letting go.
I can only trust myself.
And the clouds that follow me.

If I followed the sun.
I would never know the night.
If I followed the moon.
I would never see the light.

All the colors.
Censored by my worthless dreams.
The chase, in the end.
Would never be worth.
The times I dreamt.
Of the day I would leave.

No matter the pain.
Or the loss of dreams.
I could always do the same thing.
And follow the sky.

I will miss the view.
And all the times staring into it.
Wondering how often it changed.

Questions.

Do the buildings really echo the sky?
How do you measure a day?
Let me know before you leave.
Make your choice.
Push it back.
Leave before I see you.
Let it glow.