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I know you.
You were too thin.
You had bad skin.
They ridicule you for it.
They call you a freak, a loser.
You know they're right.
You're alone.
You have no friends.
Maybe you once did, but they knew who you were.
They left you and joined the myriad of those who hate you.
It hurt, didn't it?
All the nights, weekends, holidays you spend in your room, your arms wrapped around yourself, just so you can imagine what it feels like for someone to hold you.
But it never works.
You know they're just your arms.
Where is home?
Your room is your home. A corner was home. Anywhere where they can't get you. Where are your parents?
They are never home, never around to hold you as your tears cascade like waterfalls from your eyes.
You substitute your parents' love. Substitute with gashes, cuts and scratches, don't you?
You hide your depression when they're around.
You know that they'll single you out if you reveal to them the anger, the depression.
Yeah. I know you.
Did the school try to help?
They tried, but it was just a reminder that you are a loner, an outcast. They don't know the extent of your hate, the sadness that threatens to engulf you.
They sent you to the hospital, didn't they?
They called you a peril to yourself and the people surrounding you. They kept you in a cell. Away from the light. You find comfort in the dark. You have spent your entire life in the dark. But even there, they ridiculed you. You spent days, sedated, lying in your cell. They gave you pills. But they didn't help, did they? You were content, asleep in the dark.
I know you.
All you want is to scream, to cry until you no longer have the strength to go on. To spill your troubles in the form of salty tears, all the while wondering,
"Why am I still here? I WANT TO DIE!"
You tried to take your own life, but it didn't work, did it?
Didn't think so.
Someone intervened at the last moment, didn't they? They called you a coward, a self-absorbed maniac. But you knew, and still know, that you had the courage to end it all.
Knew that they were the cowards, foolishly prolonging an obviously wretched existence.
But when you were discharged from the hospital, the sheer, blinding hate and spiraling depression crushed back down upon you.
I know you.
You're just like me.
Ume, written on 11/29
 Jew-bacca · Thu Nov 30, 2006 @ 01:11am · 0 Comments |
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