Thursday,Jul 27 2006, 11:11:31 AMMy Story - My Truth

 

Introduction

 

This is my story, this is the truth the reality I see through my eyes. This is my past as I relive it and my future as I predict, this is also the present as I see things now. I am confined to this place. To go on roaming this world unable to touch and unable to feel but simply to observe.

I am no longer a young child, my biggest problem is no longer skinning my knees playing a game. My problems stem from my surroundings be it people or places, my problems stem from my experiences, my problems stem from within myself. For I am the only reason these problems exist. I chose to let them matter, I chose to let them take control of me, I chose to let them control my actions, I chose… I made… Bad choices.

 

……………………………

What am I? Where am I? Who am I? all these questions spiral uncontrollably through my mind over and over again. Am I truly that unsure of myself? Of who I am? I’m losing control and I no longer know what to do anymore. What to feel anymore. I feel empty, cold, ashamed and as these thoughts continue going through my mind I find I’m on a road to self discovery. So I ask myself again. What Am I?

What happened to me? The same things that happen to you. Why have I done what I’ve done? For the same reasons you do the things that you do.What was going through my mind those last days? Nothing. Feeling and being nothing. Insignificance. Being insignificant. Not mattering enough to people. Waiting for one person to sincerely ask “How are you” and wishing I could tell them the truth but I was too scared to say “I am afraid, I wish I wasn’t me… I need help.” Instead I smiled and I laughed along to their jokes and as they all did I hid my fear and I kept up the pretence of being “Okay.” My Secrets… My Fears… My Thoughts… This… Is My Truth.

I am a thought. I am a feeling. I am a shadow. I am alone. I stand in a group of people; I sit in a crowded room yet I am still alone. As I sit here today not quite sure where I am; does it matter? I have nothing but the cold and my thoughts to accompany me, dead isolation, solitary confinement. I have nothing to live for but the knowledge that even this current hell and darkness ends. Nothing else surrounds me but tears and loneliness, nothing more but pain and unquenchable shadows, nothing but emptiness. Nothing.

Yet fear I sense also surrounds me; fear of acceptance? By whom? Fear of difference? To whom? Fear of living? For whom?

Is this all there is to it? I long for nothing, nothing but my inevitable demise. An end to this meaningless existence, this life I lead. I long for nothing but that day where I finally lay never again to be awakened. Overwhelmed by bliss? Is that what it would truly feel like? Could that really exist for me? Or am I right in believing it’s simple contentment? Acceptance of things as they are? I no longer have the energy to fight for difference, to fight for something new, something possibly better. So I’ve settled into merely accepting things as they are, as they happen to be.

……………………………..

I walk now through crowded hallways and I smile to those who greet me. I think to myself as I observe an encounter between two young girls. One seems quite troubled, Shade I think that’s her name, she looks as if she’s about to cry yet she continues smiling for the sake of her friend, she’s tugging the sleeves on her arms down no doubt trying to hide her guilty wounds. She’s been cutting or so it would seem. Her friend Teresa seems quite oblivious to what’s happening as she continues gushing about her current boyfriend.

“Oh my god, he’s so sweet and caring. I think I could be falling in love with him”, she smiles broadly and Shade smiles sweetly in response. A smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but a smile nonetheless.

“Oh Shay, I’m so sorry I’ve been so caught up in Neil I hadn’t even thought to ask. How are you? Are you okay?”

Does she really care about her answer? What would she say if she answered no?

She smiles and quaintly replies, “I’m fine” and things continue as before. I keep walking slowly observing, watching the world go by, watching these people move around me quickly scattering about to their next classes. Do these people feel as I do? Is pain really that infinite? Would it be really that much simpler to go through life devoid of emotion? Or are my problems and the problems of my fellow peers doomed to forever be seen merely as “teenage issues”. Can nothing be done? Will there ever be someone out there who will see past the pretences and finally see the reality, see through the façade, through the fake smiles and see the pain and suffering we face? Will there ever be someone who understands? Will there ever be truth, that’s all I really ask for. Truth.

The day passes in a blur, like everyday before and everyday ahead, each day is the same. Does time ever really pass or am I just reliving the same day over and over again? Time moves faster, time slows down yet all things still seem the same, unchanged. Is it wrong that this “normalcy” is all based on a lie? People fear the truth. Because it could bring possible pain? Irony at it’s best. What I can say though is fear not the truth, fear the contentment and acceptance of the lies we choose to live by. If the truth hurts us, could it really be anything in comparison to what we feel now? Something to consider I guess.

I’m in class now, which class I’m not quite sure of. I don’t quite care. I continue as I am, looking out the window at the sky watching the rain pour softly down onto the ceilings of the adjacent buildings. Still accompanied by my thoughts and so I continue. Thinking. Contemplating the meanings of life. My life. Engrossed by my thoughts I listen closely to the constant sound of the rain, the smell of fresh water and slight dampness draws me in. In the background I can vaguely hear a woman’s voice. Is that my teacher yelling at me? I shrug and I return to my thoughts, which like the rain keep flowing constantly through my mind. I look across the room and I again I see Shade writing. I see she’s written “Alone” and “Sorrow” on a piece of paper. Is she writing down what I’m feeling? Should I reach out to her and try to talk to her? How would I approach her? “Oh hi Shade I saw you the other day and I think your suffering from self mutilation so I thought I’d pretend to care and try and talk to you” that would go well huh? The truth of the matter is she isn’t alone. We all seem to be searching for that one thing to drown out the voices, drown out our thoughts. Something to put an end to the madness within us. Some find it in a blade, some find it in a pill, a drug. We all have different ways of coping of expressing ourselves. Many may feel as she and I do and though we may not be alone in those feelings or thoughts we will forever feel as if we are. We will always find ourselves asking why? Why are things like this? Why am I like this? Why can’t I be different? Why can’t I be good enough? Why … ? There is a never ending list to the questions and the only answer is. There is none. There’s never any answers only more questions. So we remain confined to our thoughts unable to express ourselves to other people for fear of being laughed at.

My thoughts are interrupted as I hear the faint sound of the school bell ringing and I know it’s time for me and my thoughts to move on. I think I’ll go home. Hmm Home, where is that for me? What is that?

……………………………….

It’s been days since I last went to school. I’m not quite sure how many but my mother seems to think it’s time I go back. I walk around in a daze not quite sure of where to go or what direction to take, no longer do I care. But I seem to find the right path and as I slowly make my way to school I continue dissecting my life. I’m on a mission to figure out what exactly is going on with me. What’s wrong with me? Why am I the wrong one? Or does it merely seem as if I’m wrong because everybody else is continuing with their own pretences and I am the only truth at this point? As I near the school I suddenly feel faint and a cold chilling wind hits me. Suddenly I feel as if something is wrong. As I arrive to school I’m surrounded by grief stricken people. What’s going on? I see Teresa sitting there her smile is gone, she’s sobbing the tears flowing from her eyes freely. She’s surrounded by a group of people trying to comfort her. Her happiness evidently replaced with pain? Loss? Hurt? Some of her group are trying to fight off their own tears as they try to support her, there are others how ever who are already crying. I wonder what’s happened? I continue walking through the doors and I see differences. People are hugging and consoling each other. I hear faint whispers from person to person “I heard she was psychotic”, “I heard she lost her mind”, “I heard she was crazy”. Suddenly the bell rings and it’s time to go to class. I find a seat and sit there pondering what I’ve just heard. Then Ms Charteris enters class dressed as if she’s in mourning and it’s evident she has also been crying. She tries to hide her tears as she reaches for another handkerchief. Then she speaks, it sounds almost as if the dead itself we’re speaking. Her normally soft voice now gravelly and faint, a hint of loss and an overpowering sound of pain can clearly be heard. “Morning class. Sadly there has been a great loss amongst us today. One of your fellow students Ms Shade Winters has passed away.” she sighs sadly and wipes her tears as she continues, “Regrettably you may have heard she took her own life and many more stories will no doubt arise, but her family has yet to disclose that information and would appreciate it if you would all use this time to cherish your memories with Shade. Remember her as the strong, willful and intelligent woman she was. Understandably for those of you who may have been close to her or feel that you need to talk to somebody about her feel free to see one of the guidance counselors or you may speak to myself. Her family has requested that the student body does not go to the funeral service tomorrow but they have given exceptions to those of her friends, those of you may take tomorrow off from school to do so. The service will be held tomorrow at 11am at the funeral parlor.”

I look around and half the class is in tears and the others are already spreading rumors. If only people cared as much before she died as they do now. Maybe then her death would have been prevented. I guess she just went a bit too far one day, cut a little too deep. What was going through her mind? Could it possibly be, the exact same things that go through mine everyday like an ongoing reoccurrence? I hear muffled voices,

“How could she do this?”, “What was she thinking?”, “Why didn’t she talk to me?”, does it really escape them? How do you talk to the unapproachable? How do you talk to someone who possibly wont care when you know inside that that’s one of your biggest fears? To tell someone your problems and have them simply not care. I see people now trying to comfort Teresa, yet I can’t help but wonder. Did they ever try and comfort Shade when she was alive? Did they ever try to look beyond the surface to see what she was going through? Did anybody care enough to do anything? Or is it true you only know what you have when it’s gone. Now these people decide to care. Now when it’s too late. Now when she’s already gone. I sit here engrossed in my own thoughts. Is she better off? Has she found peace? Has she finally put an end to the voices? To her thoughts? People may judge her for what she’s done but several will understand. I see the same shadows around others as I did with her. I recognize the same signs, the same distant look in their eyes. Will these people try and reach out? Or like Shade will they keep it to themselves and continue on the path that she took. If we look deeper will we see the truth? Look beyond the façade? I know we all have problems, some of us choose to ignore them and some of us choose to acknowledge them. Yet we all choose to deal with them differently. I cant help but continue thinking about these latest events and wondering how it could have been prevented. The only thought that keeps coming to mind is. The Truth. The fact however will always remain that we live in a society fuelled by lies, where the truth is feared. Will things change? Or will Shades death be in vain?

…………….………………

“Are you okay? Is there anything you’d like to talk to me and your father about”, I look blankly at my parents as my mother continues asking me these ridiculous questions. Must I dignify them with answers? What would I say? “No I’m not. The truth is I feel nothing but alone. I see nothing but death ahead of me. I long for nothing but that feeling. Feeling of being absolutely nothing.” It would cause more questions, more questions I don’t want to answer. I know they don’t really care and they’ll leave sooner or later. So I continue ignoring them and I continue listening to my music, turning the volume up a notch to drown both of their voices out. My father sits beside me and tries to hug me and whispers into my ear “I love you baby”, as he turns away I see a tear fall from his eye and I feel his sigh of resignation. I watch him walk away from me, my mother has long since left, walked away from me, walked away from caring leaving nothing but a mere glare in my direction. I continue listening to my music letting it take control over my body. I should have something to say. I should care what’s going on, but I don’t and I cannot force myself too. I lead a life of coldness and death is something one must adjust too. For me I live death. Death is a normalcy for me, for everyday another part of me dies. Be it a personal friend of mine, a family member, or yet another hope. How ever I am left with simply my thoughts and the knowledge that what happens surrounding me does not happen to me unless I let it, it does not affect me unless I let it. Did I know Shade? Not really, I guess I knew her about as well as I know myself. I didn’t know her at all.I stand today alone in the shadows looking over a sea of black clothing, unknown faces and there in front of this church lays a closed casket. Near the front of the room stands a somewhat familiar woman and as I try to think of who she is she slowly begins to sing. Her voice softly echoes throughout the room and I feel as if I am being drawn into the sound of her. The slow melody, the evident heartbreak within the lyrics and her voice consume me. Suddenly I feel as if I’m trapped yet I don’t want to be free. To go on forever listening to this unknown woman would be heavenly. Who is she? What spell has she cast on me? It doesn’t matter, nothing matters, but that she doesn’t stop. That this doesn’t end. Suddenly she comes to a halt and the beautiful magic that was weaving itself around me ended. She stands there alone with a look of uncertainty and fear on her face. Slowly she descends and walks over to the casket in her hands she produces a letter simply to look at it intently. As if she’s trying to burn a hole through it. Her tears fall to the paper then she screws it up and throws it on the ground. What’d it say? I then see her seat herself next to Shades parents and watch in bewilderment as they all seem to comfort each other. Confused I stand dazed. As I look towards her I see the tears falling from her eyes. Who is she? What is it that’s truly going on? Will there ever be truth? Or do the answers lay within that casket. I feel the cold air against my neck and watch as that piece of paper goes tumbling down the walk way. I glance at it and for a moment it’s almost as if I can make out the words. “I’m sorry” lay scrawled across the paper. Then just as it blew by me it continued to tumble out the door to become simply another piece of littered garbage. For the rest of the day I walk, I sit, I lay. Engrossed in my thoughts I’m unconscious of my surroundings. Unaware of my actions, merely stuck within myself. Thinking.

 

………………………………

Days will come and days will pass and for these brief moments in time pain, sorrow and fear will be all these people know. Pain from thinking of all the ifs, thinking of what could have been. Sorrow, loss for what Shade may have been to them, what she may have represented to them. Fear of moving on, fear of change, fear of forgetting… Yet as all these emotions consume them I continue to live on unfazed, unaffected by what’s happened. I simply continue to observe the movements, the actions of these people.

………………………………

Why must people continue nagging me to talk to them? Am I not being clear? Is ignoring my problems not working? Continually they ask,

These days just continually go by yet I stand almost in awe from the overwhelming feeling of melancholy I’m suddenly feeling. I’m 5 years old; I’m 10 years old; I’m 15 years old. I’m sitting here crouching in the dark corner of the room with my arms up to protect me. I’m trying to drown out the voices, trying to drown out the screams, trying to drown out the sound of glass smashing against the walls. I am no longer afraid. This is my normalcy. I hear the same familiar sounds. Him throwing her against the wall. Her hitting him, screaming at him. I see the same familiar scenes day after day, month after month, year after year. My normalcy. He turns from her to me and as he sees the tears falling from my eyes he yells louder. He becomes more aggressive. He picks me up and throws me against the wall and as his fists start swinging at me I look out into their bedroom and there I look at my baby sister. She lays there quietly unaware of the hell she just entered and I can’t help but pity her. Maybe she’ll live a better life. I look at my father and I see his anger starting to diminish as he realizes what he’s doing. Like every time before and every time ahead he apologizes timelessly. “Oh my god. What am I doing? Baby I’m so sorry. What have I done?” That’s when his fists lay open and no longer am I being pinned to the wall being used as a temporary boxing bag. I’m his daughter again and he holds me in his arms as he cries. As he continues to sob I hear him speaking in a muffled voice “I’m sorry”, “I’m sorry”, “I’m sorry”. My normalcy. My truth. Did he ever really care? “I’m sorry” holds no depth for me. Bruises heal. Broken bones do too and though people may have never known what was going on. Many have suspected. But none have done anything about it. I lay here now; as I have many times before, in my fathers arms as my body aches in pain and he cries tears of guilt. I’m 5years old; I’m 10years old; I’m 15years old and still it continues to happen. Like déjà vu all over again. When will anything be done? My mother, his brothers and sisters all justify his actions by simply saying “It’s the alcohol” is that really any excuse? Will they use that very same excuse if he does it to my little sister too? My Little sister… The baby I once held in my arms and sung her to sleep. The little girl who I watched My thoughts are abruptly bought to a halt as I lose footing at the top of the stair case. Unaware of my surroundings; almost as if in slow motion I feel myself lose footing and I feel the air beneath me. As if I’m being swallowed up by the floor I keep falling and it feels as if I’m falling into a bottomless pit. My last thoughts? Goodbye…I shall finally sleep tonight.

………………………………

What is that sound I hear? That voice. I know that voice. Could it be? That mystery girl who’s voice weaves such magic over me? I have to be dreaming and if this is a dream please don’t wake me. Please don’t let this end.

This all feels so familiar almost like it’s happened before. Just as her face seems so familiar. Her long dark hair, her fair complexion, her light blue eyes. Who is this girl? I wake again with unfamiliar surroundings. The questions keep flowing into my mind yet only answers I seek. My head hurts. My arms have chords going into them. There’s something on my face. These aren’t my clothes. What’s happened to me? Where am I? I want to go back to sleep… Can I please go back to sleep? I don’t want to be awake… Not anymore. I look around again looking at my strange surroundings. Outside I see my parents talking to a strange looking man in a white jacket. Am I in hell? Is this what my hell is? Am I dead? I’m so confused. What’s going on? I try to speak but no words come out, I try to scream but I have no voice. I try to raise my arms to do some type of movement but nothing happens. I quickly start to panic and become frantic. Then I see that girl. Her dark hair and light blue eyes glisten from tears as she turns to look at me. I see her tugging on my mothers arm and she’s saying something to her. It’s so faint I struggle to hear her. But it sounds as if she’s saying “Mom?”. Dazed and confused I lay there in shock I feel like I’m falling and again I’m consumed by darkness. I awake only to find I’m at home again. Laying in my bed in the dark and as I look around I see the faint outlines of my familiar belongings. I smell the same familiar smells. Was I dreaming? Is this real? That girl.. Who was she? My sister? Could it be?

……………….………….

It’s been days since then, yet once again my continual thoughts return. What am I? Where am I? Who am I? I am a ghost now; nothing but the cold and my continual thoughts to accompany me. Where am I? I am beside you, I am behind you, I am within you. I walk the same hallways as you do. I see the same things as you do. I understand no more no less then you do. Who am I? I am nothing. I am me. But for a brief moment in time I was known to many as Shade Winters, but now I am simply who used to be. I woke up one night unsure of my reality. Unsure of what was happening I decided to reassure myself of things the only way I knew how too. I cut a little too deeply and as I watched the blood pour from my arms I could feel the life slowly draining out of my body. This is my story. This is things as I see them through my eyes. This is my truth.

“What’s going on with you?”, “Is anything wrong?”, “Wanna talk?” yet none are truly ready for my answer. Not the truthful one. How would I tell them? Tell them the truth of what’s going on, when I know as soon as they walk out that door, as soon as they turn away they no longer care. But at least they could say to themselves that they tried. How would they react if I answered, “Well last year I was raped and though I had the ability and skills to stop it I was too afraid of hurting the person doing it. I can still feel the sensations of his hands on my body. Touching me roughly his hand against my mouth as he lets his other hand trail down my body and he continues to abuse me. Invading every inch of me. Stripping me of all power. I still remember the smells. I still remember it all so vividly. Then the only people I ever really cared about either walked away from me or died. I miss them yet I know none give me a second thought. The only constant things in my life are death and pain. I live in fear of my surroundings. I live in fear of myself. I live in fear of living. Be it awake or asleep I constantly see myself dead. This is my life. This is how things are and how things must be. Why do I cut? Because as I hold the blade against my skin cutting barely below the surface I sit and watch as the blood pours from my arm and for that one moment in time I feel relieved. Relieved because for that one moment I am aware of my surroundings and I can assure myself that I still have the ability to feel. I do not suffer from depression. Your lies and your secrecy are what suffers me. Your inability to tell the truth is what suffers me.” As I sit here with these thoughts going through my mind I feel a tear moving down my cheek and I wonder what exactly my tears are for. For my experiences? It couldn’t be. For myself? It can’t be… I have long since accepted my life as it is. For them? Quite possibly, though I may be experiencing these things and though I may seem quite troubled. I have come to understand what’s happened to me. I have come to understand there’s no changing it and although I may not quite be over these things. I understand that they’ve happened. I may not understand why but I don’t need to. I do know that they have happened and that is the first step to moving on past it. Acceptance. Being honest with myself. The Truth.

Monday,Mar 13 2006, 07:30:46 AMhormonally driven idiotic mfuckaz

im tired of you pathetic ass hormonally driven mothafuckas pm'n me.. i dont know youuuuu.. i dont want to know you.. if i gave a fuck aboutchu id be pm'n you BUT I DONT.. so all you pathetic ass fucks who keep msg'n me because your horny or you popd your damn blow up doll jus gon head and die already! if you got anythin you needa say sign tha goddamn guestbook if u feel u NEED to pm me fine.. but onli if its fukn necesary im tired of you fuckn egyptian mfuckaz
to all my FRIENDS im sorry dudes :) plz jus ignore this msg lol it was not ment for you.. and ...

Read More...

Friday,Mar 10 2006, 07:20:06 AMannoyed ;-|

Ok so get this.. we spent all day cleaning the house and what not.. and i havent drawn in soooooooooooo long so i finally ull my art books back out and my sister had thrown out my god damn art pencils! she left me with a stupid ass regular pencil that was my 6 year old nephews! As if it weren't bad enough the damn pencils she threw out we're actually for ART and a god damn christmas gift.. look im the only one in my entire god damn family with any creative ability at all.. and that isnt me being stuck up its just common knowledge.. my mother and ...

Read More...