floating | ✓

08| words

“You have people come into your life shockingly and surprisingly. You have losses that you never thought you'd experience. You have rejection and you have learn how to deal with that and how to get up the next day and go on with it. ”

-Taylor Swift

08| words

They say if you stare at an abyss, it will stare back at you. That is what I feel when I look at my eyes in the mirror. My dark pool of chocolate eyes have no variation. It’s just boring brown. From a distance, it even looks black. I grimace glancing at them.

I am watching a YouTube tutorial on makeup. I apply eyeliner. It doesn't turn out how I want it to be. I give up.

Mom is always trying to make me look girlier and prettier. She gets me all my makeup stuff and dresses that I never wear. 

It is not like I can’t do makeup or I don’t want to look pretty. Looking pretty takes effort. I just don’t have that. Being lazy and looking like a homeless person is easier. Most days, it just depends on my mood, which is a scary thing.

I turn off my phone and throw it in my bed. I look at the books that I read, all done. Looking at the new books that I bought today, I am not interested. Books don’t make me feel like they used to. When I have spiral days, I dry up. Nothing can make me feel. I feel absolutely no emotion, excitement, happiness, sadness, anger, or anything. I am in a draught of feelings.

I look at the pile of homework I have, I need to finish. But if I go that way, I will get frustrated.

I have tried social media to make me feel like I am here, present in this world. It only made things worse. I have tried painting. I am not really good at it.

The house is empty. Mom and dad are still out, I don’t know when they will be back.

I open my laptop, I open a word document. It stares back at me. I should do my English assignment. Instead, I start to type. 

The words that come out are of agony. They are not organized. My thoughts are all over the place. I see them taking the shape of something I never knew I was capable of. I am writing about someone who has lodged up feelings in their throat, who is scared, who is in pain. It all sounds so emotional and cliche, I laugh. But at least, it is making me feel something, like I am emptying myself, like I am letting it out in a way.

And I keep typing. When I finally look at the clock, one hour has passed.

I think I have found that ‘something’ Oliver talked about. I call him before I can think about it.

“Hello,” Oliver answers.

“It’s Gwen. I found it!” I say, sounding elated.

“Umm, what did you find?” Oliver asks. For once, he does not sound annoyed.

“I found something to do,” I answer, “I am writing.”

“Hmm, okay,” Oliver says, “Have you just started?”

“Yes, I have written a chapter, and I kind of like how it turned out. I am not really sure. But it feels great,” I answer.

“Good for you, ” Oliver replies.

“I guess,” I say. Then I have nothing to say.

“So, umm,” Oliver stutters, “Keep writing.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Thank you and good night.”

I think Oliver won’t reply. But he does.