A/N: As far as you are concerned, this is complete fiction. But, if this were to strike a chord in you, then you are free to think otherwise. I didn't post this for myself.
I focus on the closest thing as possible to avoid this situation. Why is this happening right now? All of a sudden I felt ambushed with my back against a wall. No way out of this. The only thing to do now is to block and avoid. Avoid seeing what I don't want to. Block the voices that make my head swim while the anger boils over.
I thought about my anger as a pot inside of my chest. The situation in front of me was the catalyst that made the temperature rise and boil over. I wasn't sure why, but the idea was comforting. To know I wasn't just a human burdened with emotions, but instead a pot that naturally boiled over when put too hot.
I felt the unfairness to be pleasant. I wasn't sure why, but at that moment the anger felt sweet. Almost as if I forgot what the difference between happiness and anger was. At that moment, I was avoiding and blocking too much to know exactly what I was feeling. It wasn't pure though. Wasn't happiness supposed to be pure? How far have I fallen to forget the pure, innocent nature of happiness? When did it become like this?
When did I forsake myself?
I knew the answer though. It was two years ago. You would think someone could get over it. You could think that even though it doesn't directly affect you that it doesn't hurt. But, now that things can't be the way they once were, it hurts. As if I was drowning in sludge. Water seemed too pure for someone like me.
Sometimes, I really believe it's my fault.
I made the mistake to tell. To tell someone who I thought could handle it. But, I knew it wasn't irrational. I knew that even if it wasn't my fault, I surely made it worse. You yell at me. They yell at me. I can handle that. I can.
It's when I yell at myself that I can't stand it. Two people in my head arguing. Sometimes, it's the insensitive part of me yelling at the inferior part of me. Other times, the inferior part takes a stand and yells back. It makes me sad to see the people argue.
The situation in front of me was a painful reminder that I couldn't escape my mistake. It will follow me until death, much like my memories. I tried to erase the memories. I prayed, acted like a jerk, and slammed my head against the wall. Nothing worked. Even when the praying got more desperate, I slipped from myself, and when my head started to enjoy the pain, nothing work.
There really is no more complete amnesia quite like death.
They weren't yelling. Not really. It would have been so much better if they did though. I'd prefer it. The pain was so much greater when they acted like they didn't give a shit either way. I would give anything for someone to give a shit. I knew though that really wasn't what I was after. I didn't want someone to care. I wanted them to care.
I laugh now. I'll cry later though.
I never once look away from that point I stare at. It will all go away if I just keep looking right there. Please, I'm begging, go away.
It's pointless to hate me now. It's not that I don't care.
It's just that the hate for myself has grown so immensely huge that it overshadows any hate that could ever come from anyone else. Someone like you should spend your valuable time doing more important things than to toss even a glance my way. Yet, why were you talking to me? You were talking to me all this time, and you haven't realized that you are making things worse by doing exactly what you think will help.
Nothing will help me now.
I'm drowning. I'm far too deep to come up now. Resurfacing this fast could prove to be my downfall. It's too late to help. I'm drowning in the sludge that was made for me. Made for the people like me who can't selfishly shed the memories that hurt you so bad.
Don't even try to wash away the sludge that clings to every inch of my body. You will only dirty yourself in the process. I don't want to cause more pain than I already had. Drowning in the sludge of my memories is the only consequence I get.
In this lifetime anyway.
The sweet pain is filling my core again. It's agonizingly delicious as it slowly swirls in my chest creating pain and a sense of happiness. I could get used to it if it didn't leave such a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Almost like I was nauseous. Almost as if life is one big roller coaster that spins you until you turn green.
You left. I guess my lack of response and acknowledgment finally got you to leave. I can now break down in peace.
The pain makes me too happy to cry.
There's something heavy on my chest. It makes it hard to breathe and makes me want to puke. I tear away my clothing to look at my chest. There has to be something there. I look down and see nothing.
Nothing on the outside.
A few tears are falling but I'm not sad enough to weep. Weeping is for when you know you are in pain. Am I in pain?
I smile a little. Laugh a little. But not like it used to be. It used to be airy, light, and pure. It has been heavy, dark, and tainted for a long time now. In the beginning of the end, it was only a slight discomfort. Bearable and easily forgotten. It got progressively heavier, but it was still tolerable. I could still live.
But then real problems hit us like a semi-truck. And things weren't tolerable. It was too much to bear. It feels like it might crush me someday. I'm waiting for that day expectantly.
How much more of myself should I forsake for you? There is only so little left.
So little left of me that I can't fully give myself to others. I know I've asked others for pieces of themselves. Begged and begged but why should they ever even attempt to fix me? They are pure, untouched, and untouchable. I am far too broken to ever be repaired without destroying you. Destroying everything you are.
Are you aware of how low I am? Are you aware of how deep your words cut? They tear through the little piece of me and somehow take more of me.
How much of me is there left? Shouldn't I be a hollow shell by now? Shouldn't I be completely nonexistent by now?
What happens when you take it all?
Will I be oblivion? Is that better than living?
Some people fear oblivion. I will embrace anything to get away from this.
To get away from these memories that drags me under the bottomless sludge that I drown in endlessly. Forever drowning in my own false memories.
I would like to point out the mistakes in this. All of the fragments and other mistakes are something that I believe is how you would type if you were distressed. Thank you Mason for encouraging me to post this and encouraging me to not fix the mistakes.
I don't believe you if you say you don't relate to this at all.