Monster

Summary: “His hands running all over me, touching wrong places, calling me every bad name he can think of, his breath reeking of booze and cigarettes as his lips force themselves onto mine.”

She doesn't look, she doesn't see

Opens up for nobody

Figures out, she figures out

Narrow line, she cant decide

Everything short of suicide

Never hurts, nearly works

- Little House, The Fray

‘You aren’t talking again.’

I close my eyes and try to imagine that I am not here, I am anywhere else but here. I am not sitting on the couch, face to face with my best friend who is telling me that she is not buying my smile anymore.

‘Did you really think I didn’t notice? That everyone else didn’t notice? You’re scaring the crap out of us, honey.’

A conversation goes on inside my head. One part of me is saying, ‘Stop being selfish. Say something! Anything! If she catches on, you’re dead!’

The other part of me can’t be motivated anymore. I reopen my eyes. I look up at her for a moment, she meets my eyes. I wonder if she can see what’s going on inside my head when she looks into my eyes. I wonder if she can hear the thoughts and the memories.

I shudder involuntary as I remember.

His hands running all over me, touching wrong places, calling me every bad name he can think of, his breath reeking of booze and cigarettes as his lips force themselves onto mine.

‘Talk to me,’ desperation is in her voice. I feel guilty. Out of everybody, I know she cares the most, and yet I cannot bring myself to say a word to her. I try to find my voice but its lost. I can’t talk anymore. Did he steal my voice too?

‘You have a lot to say,’ she tells me, ‘I know you do. Why won’t you say it?’

Because you will realize how ugly I am.

To my horror, there are tears in my eyes. I keep my mouth firmly shut. I do not deserve this attention. She should scream at me and tell me how undeserving I am. I don’t deserve her concern. The only thing I deserve is hate. Hate from everybody. Hate because the only thing I can do is drag people through the repeating cycle of meds, hospitals and therapists over and over again. Hate because I am so weak and so helpless. I am just a big baby that needs to grow up.

I close my eyes. I want to talk, I want to tell her what he did, I want to cry and kick and scream and tell her everything. I want to breakdown. I want to escape from my head. I want my life back. I want to be happy again.

In my head, I scream at myself to be happy. I scream at myself to smile and say, ‘I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.’ I scream at myself because I am worrying people that shouldn’t be worrying. I am letting everybody down again.

I don’t tell her about any of the musings going on in my head. I look up at her and blink, keeping my face drained of any emotion.

‘I wish I knew what you were thinking,’ she tells me, sighing.

No you don’t, I think. She couldn’t possibly want to know what goes on in my head. I can’t even make sense of what goes through my head, how would she? She does not want to know what I am thinking. She would chuck me in some psycho ward if she did. I subconsciously rub my arm, touching the scars.

I am a freak. That's what my family and friends don't understand. They don't understand that really would be so much better off if they didn't know me. If they forgot about me, it would be so much better for them. Maybe I should scream at them, say nasty things, make them hate me - that way they won't care when I die. They won't even come to my funeral. No one will. I'll just be burried under ground, I'm not even worthy enough to have a stone with my name carved on it. People will walk all over me when I am dead, and they won't even realize it. I suppose that doesn't make much of a difference - I am already a doormat. I am a worthless, dirty little doormat with no voice.

Hours after she leaves, I escape into my room and lie flat on my bed for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, making shapes in my head. After a while, I sit up and pull the bottle of vodka out from under my bed. Suddenly getting drunk alone in my room seems like the smartest thing to do.

Sorry, I'm not here right now. I got lost inside my head and it doesn’t seem like I will be coming back anytime soon. Leave a message, maybe I’ll reply one day, if I can find myself...