"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for being the absolute worst human being ever. For being disgusting and unwanted. So worthless that a penny has more value than I ever will. I'm so sorry for not believing that religion can be an excuse to hate against others. I'm so freaking sorry that when you look at me, you want to change every single inch. Change the shape of my bones. Change the shape of my smile. Change the shape and gap of my thighs. To the point where you have the audacity of saying, "where is your gap? Your thighs touch each other and it's disgusting." I have tried, trust me. I'm so sick of these pills numbing my feelings and I'm so sick of feeling every hard-hitting emotion. They don't work. Don't you get it? It's a seven-second feeling of a blank state of mind, of a calm moment where every emotion that rips your veins and claws at your skin until venom goes into your bloodstream—they go away. These emotions go away so I don't feel like ending this idiotic life. But that's seven seconds. Just seven seconds of happiness. And then as fast as it came, as fast as it goes. Don't, please, don't pity me. Half of your DNA is inside me. So don't go around pitying me, cause you'd be pitying yourself. You created me, might as well end me. Right?
Exactly. You have nothing to say except to "grow up." I guess part of growing up is realizing that even your own blood will hurt you in the worst ways. They will make you think the worst things about yourself—from I wish I was never born to let's make that happen."
I looked up and saw no one around me. I was talking to myself this whole time. In the bathroom. Sitting on the floor. Alone. Crying enough for my vision to misinterpret a toothbrush from a bottle of shampoo. My phone buzzed in my pocket and as I pulled it out, I saw words were spinning across the screen.
RECEIVED: December 27th, 2014, at 11:04 PM.
Don't listen. Don't listen to them. Please, try harder. Look in the mirror and cry. See yourself crying because all of that built-up emotion is pouring out of your eyes. Explode like a grenade. Kick the freaking cabinets and scream into pillows filled with feathers. Do this, do this for me. Don't keep it inside of you. If you do, you'll never learn. You'll never learn that you are so much stronger than those who push you down because they can't accept themselves. They can't see you succeed. Most importantly, they don't understand how you can be happy without being another conventional robot society created. Rebel. Rebel, because you are so bloody amazing.
SENT: December 28th, 2014, at 12:07 AM.
Thank you.
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
