Wish No More for Forgetfulness

I think I've forgotten what it is to live.
Today I put away my laptop, phone, and iPod and I sat outside in the cool breeze. It's not often anymore that I let that silence wash over me. Somehow it just drags up all my insecurities, all my doubts, and all the memories I wish so deeply to forget. But I think that maybe I've forgotten too much. I've read countless times that you should forget the pain but remember the lesson. How is it that I can never seem to separate the two? Actions are never as simple as words make them out to be, but somehow, in my trying so hard to forget, I have also forgotten the beautiful, and the memories that once gave me strength and hope have slipped away into the darkness of a blank mind. And that is where I find myself now--with a mind unwilling to trust and a heart unwilling to let myself love.

Enchantment Somehow Never Lasts

The wind is so gently gusting through my window, carrying in it's arms the scent of rain. I hear through the darkness the symphony of leaves as they are whipped by the promise of a storm--to and fro--and it feels just like my heart. Whipped. Tattered. In darkness. Torn. Who is this sad person that I've become, always craving, always longing, and never completely satisfied? It does not matter who I am with or what I am doing-- I'm lonely. But I wonder, does anyone ever feel completely not alone?
I crave this solitude like I crave the air that I breathe, but at the same time it sickens me to my core because I want to know that someone, somewhere truly cares. But maybe the only one who truly cares I've grown into the habit of ignoring simply because I'd rather live with the person I think I am, than who I truly am.
The wind has stopped now, and that enchanting scent of rain is fading away, slowly. I think of all that I think I am, all that I've done, all that I've lived and learned, whether good or bad. I think of the crickets chirping outside my window, as they call for a mate to carry on the line of crickets in the neighborhood. Then, when the winter season comes, they die, decompose, and return to the dust from which they came, just like I shall one day. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, man will return from whence he came... and what will I have accomplished in my few and troublesome days? More pain, more sin, more heartache and disease? What will I have brought to the world, or more importantly, to God?
I feel so horridly useless, alone, and, quiet honestly, tarnished and ruined. You can scrub the oxidation off silver, and you can cut a raw stone into a priceless gem, but what can you do with a piece of broken pottery except scrape your open wounds like Job did. Tonight my heart's cry is that of Paul, for he said I do the things I do not wish to do, and the things I want to do I do not do. Why does it always have to be this way? I'm so tired of failing, of not quite living up to who I want--and who I should be.
I'm just so tired. Tired of trying.

Raw

I wish that I could just go back to who I was before.
I hate the feeling of being watched--of having others see me. I just want to slink away, hide in a corner, and be angry--all the time.