In the darkest of times, a man finds he is staring back unto himself, an empty shell with all his flaws spilled out in front of him. He sees what he truly is inside, hidden away from the rest of the world with a fake persona. Even those close to him, have only ever seen glimpses of this hidden world, but never the full, horrifying self.

I’ve heard that in order to understand another, you must walk the same path they have walked, faced the same ups and downs they have. If this is true, then sadly, there may be no survivors to stand next to me at the end of my road. I’ve had my good times, sure, but I’ve also had my fill of bad times, and more than enough times filled with pure, utter grief. Give any normal, sane person a single day of my life where all three times have happened in the course of less than six hours, and see if they’re still standing at the end of the rubble. I doubt you would.

Thing is, I met someone that grew on me, and came to mean many things to me. I let her into my world believing she would be able to understand it. There was a sense of relief, a calmness, and joy that came from this. There was someone who found me, was interested in me in all ways possible, and on some level, even understood me. There are few and far between feelings that surpass knowing, having found this person. But like all things that seem to good to be true, a fiery blaze is how it must end. You find the person that seems to understand you, who gets your odd quirks, and finds them cute. Able to comfort you when feeling off, or share your heavy loads. But then, then you find that its all been a false ruse, and nothing of it rooted at all. This is when you realize, some part of you that has been buried, forgotten, is still existing, and can still wreak havoc within your mind.

I was open, completely open, with no shield up to protect myself. Why would I need it? What use would it be but to hinder? I was safe on this side, with someone who had my back. Or at least I thought I was. It was warm at first. And very isolated. But then it spread, and became painful. It was hard to breathe, each breath spreading it further. I was dying from the inside out. I could hear the screams of pain ripple through halls of deep caverns.

In the brightest of times, anyone can bring you back to your knees, but in the darkest of times, its the memories and residual feelings that come to haunt you each night. It’s been eight months since my fiery death, and I can still hear the cries of pain echoing softly from my caverns as the fogs of doubt slowly lift from their veils.

They say once you’ve walked that mile in another’s shoe, only then can you understand them. But what do you do if you’re walking in your own shoes, and are still lost, void of answers?

You keep walking in search…