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| "I am alone, left to wander the halls of my mind..." |
29th November, 11.55pm.
Unending apathy finally gives way to unending rage.
My teammates, they turn against me even now, testing the boundaries of my sanity further and further and further -
I couldn't handle it. I snapped, I screamed, and I at least attempted to make it very clear how I felt. Their reaction?
Indifference. As usual, I was dismissed, my actions masked as preparation for a Drama performance.
I tried to insist otherwise, to no avail; I was silenced once more.
I considered showing them my wrist to prove otherwise, but I chose not to; even I am not willing to show such scars now. Even then, that wouldn't work; they'd laugh and jeer, just as they did then.
The entire lesson was a living nightmare; a subject I still love was turned into a madman's cackling, eldritch experience, with me as the exhibit, the enraged animal which everyone could stare and point at.
All my arguments - dismissed.
All my points - dismissed.
All my concerns - dismissed.
Not even anger could show them how I felt. I sat back, deflated and worn out, and soaked up the last of their antics; this time, an impromptu "rap battle" took place in lieu of a true rehearsal.
Now I know my true place in the group, and it is not the place of an equal.
I am a subordinate, destined to listen only to their whims, and never my own.
I am a subordinate.
A subordinate.
Nothing more.
29th November, 16.00pm.
Nothing has changed, has it?
Despite all that's happened, the friends I've made, the people I've rekindled friendships with, at my core, I am still the same damaged being I was 4 months ago. And I show no signs of changing.
The tears, I can feel them. I hold back the tide - one gets good at hiding emotion during these times.
I sit alone, the cold breeze cutting through flesh and coat alike, delving into my core - perhaps the only sensation I'll feel until I get home.
I think of the people I know - my friends, my enemies, and both visions meld together to form one large audience - all my peers stare at me, and I am on a wide stage, the spotlight pointing down on me.
I am chained, restrained from the others, writhing helplessly, struggling to regain control.
As one, they point and laugh. I hear them all (with a few exceptions) laugh at me, doubling over in fits of hysteria.
I rant and I rage and I scream, but all it does is send them into tears of joy. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can do to get them to listen, even for a second.
The spotlight turns off, and I am back in the real world. My emotions - anger, sadness, rage, each of these are hidden beneath a blank exterior. Wouldn't want anyone to notice, now would we?
She lurks in my mind, an angelic apparition tugging and plucking away at the strings of my beating heart.
I want her to be my friend only, but my heart refuses - I cannot tell her, nor anyone else, lest I ruin things again, because ultimately, that is what I do.
I ruin and I scar and I blight people's lives through my actions, whether they be unintended or not.
I am expendable - I am useless.
Nothing more.
29th November, 20.55pm.
I begin writing Chapter 8 of "Scarlet Flesh", all whilst pondering everything that has happened today and everything that may or may not happen in the weeks to come.
The tears are beginning to emerge; my wrist glows with the beaming red I have become so accustomed to.
They laugh. My peers, they jeer and they shriek and they deride, and for what?
To satisfy their schadenfreude? Perhaps that is what it must be - I did not expect rational people to act like vultures; swooping down and picking on that which is already dead, stripping the bones bit by bit.
That is what they are doing. Day by day, I am eroded away, with bits of my confidence and general demeanor spiraling into the abyss below.
One day, I will break. I will crumple and I will warp and I will be crushed. And all they will do is laugh.
The knife is pushed inwards, sending pain radiating outwards and inwards. I wince, but I know this is the only way I can control myself, and stop myself from falling apart.
This blog, it's become so much more - it is my catharsis, the means by which I vent my frustrations and continue to function as a normal member of society.
And that's all I want - to be normal, to be like the other kids and live a happy life with a girl I love and friends I can be with.
Why can't I be normal?
Why couldn't I be born as a better person?
Why did I have to be the different one?
Why?
The words echo in my mind; puerile wishes that would never be granted, happy endings that would never be tacked on.
I am left to wander the halls of my mind, searching for answers and solutions that would never present themselves. Rifling through the memories, the old and the new, the good and bad, I find... nothing.
Nothing of use, just nostalgia and embarrassment.
Nothing of use.
Nothing.
Left alone, I can do nothing but cry
Trawl through the memories, see if the tears run dry
As comforts of past and present join and entwine
Both are ephemeral, both rest on a fault line
The fault line is anger, the triggers are my peers
Laughing at me, all I can hear is their jeers
Echoing through my being, I must make a choice
Remain silent and subservient, or show them my Voice?
The former, I'll choose, for they will never learn
The scars, they cleanse; their comments only burn
Leaving behind nothing but storms of ash
A maelstrom of decay, yet at my wrist I still slash
Nearly one year has passed, and I am back where I was
In the pits of depression, I struggle to be free from the jaws
Of apathy and misery, clamping down on my joy
I am pulled to my prison, where my flesh, I will destroy.
Source of image: http://www.freefever.com/stock/walking-in-the-rain-wallpaper-photo.jpg
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