A Nightingale In A Golden Cage

So I have this mask. It's called "Happy Christina." I wear it everyday (mostly) except the days that I forget it. Or the days that I just can't fit it over everything else.

And I'm tired of wearing it.

I don't like my mask. And, yet, I'm so afraid of casting it aside forever.

It hurts to wear my mask.

When someone says "I'm sure you've heard this before, but you look gorgeous in your profile picture," I laugh it off and thank them. But inside, I don't believe them for a moment. Why? Because my mask was in place when the picture was taken.

Today I looked down from the third floor. I stared down at the courtyard before me and imagined stepping off the edge. I imagined what it might be like to fall down three stories. As many of my close friends know, I'm a very visual person. I can imagine nearly anything and almost feel it. I've decided that three stories is too tall. The second story? Maybe.

It'd be so easy, too. There's no one around me most of the time. It'd be so easy to just climb over the railing and....step off. Sure, my mind entertains the notions of a certain someone reading this blog and then valiantly intercepting my attempt. But let's face reality. That's not going to happen. Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to actually do this. I've just been thinking about it today. For those of you who can't tell the difference between thinking and acting.

I want him to ask me again so badly. I want him to be the person I can email or talk to. But he's not going to be. I know this. Don't ask me how, but I just know. And I've been right about these things before. I usually am. It'd be great if I was surprised and wrong. But that's not going to happen either.

"Who's there knocking at my window?
The owl and the Dead Boy
This night whispers my name
All the dying children

Virgin snow beneath my feet
Painting the world in white
I tread the way
and lose myself into a tale

Come hell or high water
My search will go on
Clayborn Voyage without an end

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze
Come someone make my heavy heart light
Come undone
Bring me back to life

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze
Come someone make my heavy heart light
It all starts with a lullaby

Journey homeward bound
The sound of a dolphin calling
Tearing off the mask of man
The tower-my sole guide
This is who I am
Escapist
Paradise Seeker
Farewell, time to fly
Out of sight
Out of time
Away from all lies

A nightingale in a golden cage
That's me locked inside reality's maze."

That's an excerpt from Nightwish's "Escapist." I don't know how I've never stumbled upon this song before, but now that I have, it's been on repeat for awhile.

I think I'll go to the ARC. Last time I went, I nearly blacked out because I worked myself so hard. I'll try that again. And I'll still come back the same as I am now. That's what happened last time.
 
I've accepted the fact that I can't control my depression. And I'm screaming inside to tell someone. But, as in the past, I'm picky about who I tell these things to. For some reason, they have to be older and male. I don't know. Maybe it's because I look for father figures? Who knows.
 
I've wanted to return to my usual method of dealing with things so badly, but all I have are a few pairs of blunt scissors and that just won't cut it. No pun intended. I've been thinking about what I use back at home and I'm wishing I hadn't left them behind.
 
I grow bored with words.