They Refused to Look

Skirting the Edge

'I don't know what I did wrong. I tried living up to your standards, I tried to become the person you wanted me to be, but you kept pushing me back down when I tried to stand on my own. The harsh words didn't help me, they made me weaker, chipping away my personality till there was barely even a slither left. I had piece together the puzzle that I thought I lost, one that you will never see again. When I think you finally accepted me, you say words that hurt, twisting the knife deeper, it's been going on so long that they just bring back unwanted memories, memories that I try so hard to block, keyword try.

I'm in the sea of darkness and despair with no land in sight just floating aimlessly waiting for my time to come. I crave for death but I'm too scared to take the plunge that I so desperately need to escape your scrutiny. I know others have it worse than I do, and I probably shouldn't be complaining, the thing is though I'm weak. I can feel in my soul I'm not meant for this world, but then where do I truly belong? I try to escape this reality by clinging to any other story, whether it comes from books or my dreams.

You don't know the real me, how could you, you think the real me is someone stubborn, lazy, and sensitive, I am so much more, but you'll never get the chance to see because I'm terrified of the outcome.The true joy I have is only brought to me by my friends, the joy I show you is fake, it's a mask I put up just to keep you from hurting me more.You can't even see the pain in my eyes, you think I'm perfectly fine but you never look deep enough, is it that you just don't care or are you just seeing what you want to see?

Every time we interact in public I can feel the underlying tension, the things you want to scold me on, whether I'm being too demanding, when I'm just joking around, or I can't interact well with other people, even though you made me this way.

I know you were hurt, and you were left behind, but that doesn't mean you have to go pick him over me. You say you want to give us equal childhood, but when he wants something he gets it, when he does something wrong or bad you keep your temper, when he's lazy you let him go, but if I tried to even do a fraction of what he pulls I would be grounded for weeks. He gets your love, he hears your stories, I can't feel your love, I can't even ask for stories.

All I know from growing up that love is pain, love isn't real, it's just a way to hurt one another. I try to be perfect, I try to give you the benefit of the doubt, but each rejection it gets harder and harder, the pain becomes more unbearable, but I still try because you're my parents. You laugh and mock when I storm out of the room in tears, you think it's silly that I'm getting upset over a few "harmless" word, the words hurt, but not as much as the memories they unearth, each scar being cut opened again left to bleed with no one to help me through the pain. I know life isn't fair, I mean I get the short end of the stick almost every day....'

I stare at the screen, my words glaring back at me daring me to show them to the world. But I couldn't, it would just cause chaos destroy the fragile foundation my life is on. I turn off my laptop and slowly get up trying not to make a noise, they can't know I was up this late. Slowly tiptoeing towards my desk I avoid all boards that creek, setting down my laptop I navigate towards the door, pausing and getting in character, just in case, I open the door and make my way towards the bathroom. I pause when I hear movement from their room, after a few seconds I continue my journey but freeze when I hear a door opening.

Deciding it's not worth it I dash back to my room and play possum under my bed covers. I listen for the creaks of the floorboards, willing my self to stay awake. As I listen I slowly begin to drift. I try to stop it from coming. I don't want to fall asleep, it's gonna be one of 'those' nights. Nights where instead of dreams where I can be happy, I'll just have nightmares reminding me of what I did wrong. I try but I'm just so tired, tired from the fight of living, tired of staying a wake.

*

'She paints but with a twist, the brush is a razor and the canvas is her wrist,' is that how it goes? I'm not sure but I like it, don't know who came up with it but it is relatable. I don't cut, I think about it but I don't, I don't want to go to deep on accident, or maybe it would be on purpose, who knows anymore, I don't like pain. I don't cut, I don't want people questioning why, they think I'm happy and aloof, only two other people know that's not true.

Joy and laughter can be faked, the feeling of emptiness can't. My scars run deep, and I don't even know what I assumed or what you actually said to me.  Is the pain real? Are you not the ones that created the pain?

Did I look into the words to much?

I mean I guess I did, you keep saying them I guess they're okay to say, you would stop if it wasn't right.  The words probably ring truth anyway.

How can I trust someone when they speak the opposite of what you say, you've been telling me these things since I can remember, so of course I'm going to believe you.

*

Shaking my self out of my thoughts I look at the time, 4 AM, I gained about thirty extra minutes of peace before the nightmares.

'At least it will only be for about two hours, better than a full eight...or what ever I can get before I wake up because of them.'

I can't stay awake anymore, I just accept it, I resign myself I close my eyes and let the nightmares come, I can't stay awake forever anyway.

to be continued....

(probably.......maybe)