Because it's all i can do...

          Can you all just sit back and listen for a moment? Because if i don't vent i will explode.  What, you may ask, is the crisis?  That would be the next logical question.  The answer, i would then say, is my rage at being powerless, being mortal, not being able to control others.  For a long time i hurt myself and in my addiction i was able to exist (barely) in a universe where all of my emotions were muted.  Anytime a painful or unwanted emotion would crop up, i could quickly tuck it back down my throat---way down deep in my stomach into a well of nothingness.   I understand wanting to check out of life, to not participate, to watch the sounds and colors pass by in a continuous blur, never stopping long enough so reality could come into focus.
          Having said all of that, it kills me to watch a family member be stuck in this way of life.  I thought it was hard being on the inside.  It's more painful being on the outside looking in.  At least that's how i feel today. 
          I miss having a sister.  I'm sick of the shell that encapsules who she once was.  She has transformed into a terrible version of a podperson.  She's there, but she's not there.  I hate seeing her because i am reminded of how i once was, and i hate seeing her because i cannot make her unstuck.  I cannot make her shed the victim cloak and join the land of the living.
          I am resentful towards other family members who allow her to continue this way and to make excuses for her way of life.  They give her pills and give her another reason to stay in the basement.  They tell her she is sick and that the medication will save her.  I know the medication will kill her, even long before she is dead.  (But what do i know?)
         I experience the pain of the ancient mortal seer Cassandra, who was blessed with gift of seeing into the future, but also given the curse of being disregarded (and frequently thought insane).  While i stand on the shores, crying the forthcoming fall of Troy, those around me ignore my protests and discount my experience.  I, too, envision, destruction.  Destruction of a person that "just isn't there."  Cassandra couldn't change anything. She was only a mortal.  And, today, so am i.

The following poem was especially related to the prompt of Tomorrow by sunday scribblings.

         My mortal stands on the clifftops

         of a rocky shoreline

          Watching the legions of armies coming from across the ocean

         To spill their courage and lifeblood

          An odd sense of dejavu befalls her

                  I have seen these soldiers die before

                  Crushed beneath a thousand arrows

                  Fallen silent in the entrails of the their mighty horses

                  I know the ending of this battle

she says tragically

          The saltwater blows at her feet

           Stinging her saturated skin

       

           My mortal doesn't want to watch anymore

             because she knows she won't be believed

            Apathetic eyes will turn away

             and go back to sharpening their swords

            It must be hard seeing ahead the despair tomorrow

             Despite the calm and silence of today.