I get used to my new way of life.1
Lying, charading, facading. All become a daily routine. I shrug questions and change subjects. It works on all but maybe one or two. Maybe one. My only true friend who could possibly understand how I feel lives thousands of miles away. I could tell him, but what good would come of it? He'd know and that's all. I wasn't there anymore, when if I was down he'd comfort me by offering to blow stuff up. Nathan and I would, too. (Sorry about your water main, Stephen!) Thinking about it as I write, I smile despite how I feel.2
Only one person is there for me now, yet I cannot bear to tell her the truth sometimes. Seeing her cry is a worse pain than any blade or bullet could inflict. I've been told that it is easy to lay down and die, to just give up. Ever tried it? How can it be easy, realizing your end is near, knowing that you will never see those important to you, feeling the grief of your unborn children who will no longer exist, because their would-be father is such a loser. No! It isn't easy and that is why I am still here. Pathetic human emotions constrain me to this sad, grey plane. Compassion, love, weakness. Weakness is an emotion. I feel weak. These phenomena for the human psyche prevent me from the release I seek. So suicide means hell, at least the heat will warm my soul.3
Recently I've given trust to another, but she, too, is far away. She cares, but I put her through more than I think I should have. She watched, sort of. She saw the trust, saw that I don't bleed. Over and over I tried, pushing harder every time. A couple of drops. Only a few. I turn off the web-cam so she doesn't see the anguish and grief on my face. I can't even feel pain. I've become completely numb. I need to talk to my friend about it so I call her, but I couldn't bring myself to admit I broke her promise. I tell her I'll call her back. I don't.4
Later, my phone rings. Assuming it's Rachael or Crystal, I just say "what?" But it's far worse.5
"Hi, Nick." Says my mother.6
I don't reply.7
"I love you." she says.8
I feel nothing.9
"Are you going to come get me?" she asked pleadingly.10
"No."11
"Why not?"12
"Because I don't care." I was chilled by how true this was.13
"Why don't you, honey?"14
"I don't care anymore. I don't care about you. About my sister, about my grades, or about my life."15
"What happened?"16
"Everything. Everything happened. I'm tired of the fighting. I just don't care anymore. I'm going to go to sleep, and hopefully I'll never wake up."17
She starts to tell me how a religion I'm supposedly a part of(yet don't believe in) is wrong. I don't care. It can be wrong. It can be right. But I don't care.18
No pain. No anger. No sorrow. Just emptiness and a fake smile. I live day to day because I am too cowardly to take my own life. I have other ways; always tempting Death however I see fit. Picking fights I'll lose, running red lights, whatever. Nothing. I am trapped. Maybe I am in Hell now, and just don't realize it. Oh, well.19
I sit here writing these sentences and wish they were not true. A nondescript "X" covers where my heart should be, and though it still pumps beneath my chest, it is without rigor or conviction. It is the beat of a heart that half-heartedly attempts at freedom, although it knows the rib cage it is sealed behind has won long ago. But habit has kept it going. 20
It doesn't know what else to do.21
Author notes
I write this and you may believe I empty my soul and emotions into this. Do not be fooled. I no longer taste bitter emotions. This story will become what it always has been: A clever choice of vocabulary mixed with natural author instinct.
P.S. to understand the above conversation, please understand that I've put up with years of emotional abuse from my mother. This is sort of giving her a taste of her medicine.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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I've been told that it is easy to lay down and die, to just give up. Ever tried it? How can it be easy, realizing your end is near, knowing that you will never see those important to you, feeling the grief of your unborn children who will no longer exist, because their would-be father is such a loser. No! It isn't easy and that is why I am still here. Pathetic human emotions constrain me to this sad, grey plane. Compassion, love, weakness. Weakness is an emotion. I feel weak.
here we go, a long ass comment
cuz this is my favourite
I can relate to any part of the paragraph here
ok ok, maybe less on that mother part
But this is ****in amazing!!!!!
(lol, sorry, my small bro trying to read what I write)
yea .. excellent
I probably have to paste that above paragraph to someone else I know
Someone who I trusted more than anything and what he called me, shattered me
love,
NeveR ♥
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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If the abuse was so much i don't really blame you for disowning your mother. I can't personally relate but i have a cousin and his mother abandoned him in a supermarket when he was younger and a bunch of other shit. He ended up living on the streets getting into the drugs and everything, and then a family took him in and he's been clean for a while now. He's older then i am, i'm not exactly sure how long he's been clean all i know is that is has been awhile. He disnowned his parents and his biological mother and father just got married a last summer, after he was an adult. I don't blame him for disowning his parents though, after being put through all of that.
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Hmmm... That's a very interesting insight on my story, but I believe that the wall thing is true and I have let certain individuals glimpse my innermost feelings. And I have disowned my mother so I feel much better.
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mhm, I understand that. I just wanted to say that reading this really made me think back on the time when I was contimplating, the more simple ways of releasing myself from the hurt, the pain. The one thing is though, I put up this wall, ok, to make sure that other people can't see inside me, well it was working fine and everything, until one day someone did see inside me. I know that you say you have no emotions, that you are a brick wall and nothing can hurt you, but you feel emotion anyways, through your writing, and the way that you talk about your friends, and how your mother has hurt you. It is difficult to not be emotional, even when you say that you arent. You said that it hurts you so much when your love cries when you tell her things, that son is emotion. I know, it feels like you are numb and that there really isnt any solution, but there is. I got through it, I'm damn proud of it, and I know that you can too.
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It is great being able to write like that, really moving and...as i said (starting to sound repetative i know) truly amazing.
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Thanks for the comment.
I guess when I write, the words just seem to come from somewhere. I write words I didn't know I knew. lol.
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Wow. What else can I say?!? This is amazing work. For a "clever choice of vocabulary mixed with natural author instinct" it is one hell of a story. xxx
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