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| "The cuts are what keep me alive, they let me know I can still feel." |
He's not doing too well, is he?
You don't say? Next, you'll be trying to tell me unicorns don't exist and that pigs can't fly!
Was that meant to be comedy?
No.
Look at him. He keeps on cutting, keeps on drawing ever closer to his doom. Can't he see he should just pick up his phone and tell his friend about his problems? What's stopping him?
Pride. Pride is what stops us from calling for help. We take it as a sign of weakness, as a sign that we are failing.
No one likes to be told they're failing, so he perseveres down this path. And I'm curious as to what awaits us both at the end of this.
He's not listening to us. He's shut us out, he's completely closed himself off. All our efforts are for naught.
Then again, I really can't blame him.
What else can one do, after having his work thrown in his face, after having his psyche fragment into unrecognizable fragments?
After everything I've done, all the time I spent chasing after those would never like me, after dispelling my dark past to the annals of history and persevering through everything this year had to throw at me, is anyone surprised that I am in this position?
The person you see every day is a facade, a facsimile of what he wishes to be.
I was once a different person, you know. A different, happy person.
I lived and I laughed and I enjoyed what life had to offer me. I tried my best to help those who needed it, and stood by my friends whenever they had battles they needed to fight.
I loved certain people with all my heart, but in the process learned that I need to be more careful, lest I wound my heart another time. Yet, despite that, things were great. It seemed as if everything would turn out fine.
I was proven wrong.
Month after month, week after week, day by day, my resolve was battered and broken down to the point where I do not how best to continue my life, if continue it at all, to take things to an extreme.
I am not myself. Every day I walk into school, and when I walk back out, the sense of camaraderie I share with you all dissipates, and I am left to my own devices.
Life, to me, is seen through lenses of grey - everything has become more and more lackluster to the point where I do not know if anyone is worth fighting for.
There are few - few people would I would do anything to keep in my life.
But I know that they too will ultimately leave, and I don't blame them. They have their entire lives ahead of them - college, university, jobs, marriage, and retirement. Me, I am unsure of where to go next, of what to do in the future.
So in the present, I cut. I cut and I slice and I slash until my wrists burn red and my mind is clear once more, because the knife gives me back control. It gives me back something I have been losing ever since 4 months ago, ever since everything went to hell and I was sent down the path I now walk today.
I want to turn, I want to head back and join you all, but I cannot. The voices in my head conjure illusions, they make you all seem like the bad guys, and sometimes, I wonder if they speak the truth.
I can't take it anymore. I can;t take the jokes, the banter, the pathetic, infantile attempts at humor.
I can't deal with it. Do you think I care about your jokes?
Do you think I have time for your "raps"?'
Do you honestly think I give a damn about whether I called you names or not?
I... I apologize. This is not a diatribe, that is not my objective.
This is a monologue - nothing more.
Back on track, ever since 4 months ago, I have been feeling disenchantment with the world. I began to cut myself off from those who made me happy, and I have been growing colder and colder each day.
The cuts are what keep me alive, they let me know I can still feel.
My fears, however, are something completely different.
I do not know whether the cuts are the end of my misery, or the heralds of something greater.
The scars grow deeper as the days go by, and this time, there's no happy ending, no angel to save the day, nearly no-one to fight the storm with.
For the first time, I feel... alone.
Alone, left to fend for myself and fight off my demons. I cannot.
What happened to the old me?
How did he turn into this excuse for a human being?
I cry. Slowly at first, then the tears come en masse, as I try and piece together the fragments of my life.
My enemies rejoice, and the others all laugh (save for a few).
This is it. There is no way out this time.
Now, I am alone, and there is nothing I can do to change course.
Let me sleep. Let Time carry all trace of me away from this world and your thoughts, and may you live better lives.
All I want is to be free.
Yet freedom will remain nothing but a dream, and all I will have are the bars of my cage.
Abstract image source: http://www.wall321.com/Abstract/Abstract/abstract_dark_1920x1200_wallpaper_29083
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