The music flows through my angry veins carrying peace with its melody. The burn of anger cools as my mind opens to new possibilities. The pain of the past it’s forgotten, at least momentarily, in the wake of the hurt from the present. The sting of words bites and tears at all that I hold comfortable inside me. Nothing that I know is real. It is all changing as fast as I can become accustomed to it. Nothing stays the same. Routine becomes change. Mundane tasks become my lifeblood, all that keeps me going. The need to accomplish those few shallow deeds is the only reason for my life. I can trust no one, friend’s tire of constant troubles. Jealousy bites deep into my throat, cutting off the air I need to survive. How can I watch what I want be ripped from me by someone I know to be more deserving and better suited to it than I? I ask for things, thinking I know the consequences, but in the end they always surprise me. I never meant to become so involved. I thought I knew what I was doing. The strain is wearing me down. I need my strength, but my strengtheners become my enemies, attacking me and wearing me down instead of building like they should. I need strength. I am so weary…no sleep can give me back my strength. I need distance. No attachments, no desires. I need to spend time in a vacuum and heal. The commonplace needs to become my life. I cannot tolerate anything important. If I can get my energy into the few easy, necessary tasks, and do them well, maybe I can get enough energy to recover, stockpile the excess. I thought I was a person, not something that can be brought back when wanted and when more interesting things have been taken or are no longer appealing. But I am just a thing, tossed to the side when no longer wanted, then picked back up when I am. The doll is tiring of the abuse. She is wondering why her? Why must she deal with all this pain when all the other toys are loved and held? The pain of knowing what you could have had and having it denied is worse than never having known the possibilities at all. Ignorance is bliss. Those who never know what they could have had are much better off with the vague ideas than those like me who know fully what is possible but has been denied for no apparent reason.