Confessions

Mind wandering into fantasy, she barely heard the music blaring from the headphones over her ears. She listened more to the melody than the words—the words spoke of literal meanings, but the music revealed the pathos she felt akin to.

Once again she had had to listen to her father rant and rave about the house, venting his frustration on them—ridiculing them for clinging to the safety of home, when all they knew growing up was the safety of home. There was fear in them, instilled by their mother, fear that would only be reinforced by their father’s anger.

She knew her father yelled and complained only because he was ashamed of them, he couldn’t overcome the pressure put on him at work when his coworkers talked about their children, about how well their children were getting along in the world. Her father couldn’t beat that peer pressure to be better than other people; he succumbed to the embarrassment bred from having children too wary of the world to succeed.

Of course he didn’t know that she didn’t shy from the world out of fear of it—no she shied from it because she hated it. The world and her future held no promise, held no hope to feed her. All she thought about was death, and couldn’t wait until death’s rider claimed her soul.

She wished to God he’d do that already, she wished the MERCIFUL God would deliver her from life and pain.

But he never did—maybe he was just as sadistic and ignorable as the people around her each day of her life.

“I just want to leave this place, I can’t take the tedium, the hate, the coldness of living anymore. But no one will understand, no one in this world is selfless enough to understand. No one knows anything about true humanity, and hope is just an illusion.”

She paused.

“Hm. I’m talking to myself again, I should really stop that. Though it’d be funny if anyone walked in and heard me.”

Another pause.

“Now I’m talking to myself about talking to myself. I really need to get a life.” She sighed and looked at her wrist; three day old wounds decorating her pale skin. “Not that that would help much, life is useless unless you have a destiny, and the only real destiny in the world is to die. Everything else’s just chance.”

Slowly she sat up on the bed, her mind wandering to thoughts of walking downtown towards the falls. The beauty of the foliage, the sound of the rushing water, the feeling of peaceful solitude that pervaded her body when she sat in her favorite spot—it all calmed her into relaxation. Just imagining it was enough to make her want it.

“I don’t want to have to walk though, I want to go there, but I don’t like the trip there.” She closed her eyes and focused on the music—the song playing was one of her favorites, containing lyrics about cutting, and an aura of anger and frustration characteristic of her life.

‘It’s funny though, many who don’t know me, would assume I became this way after listening to music like this—hell no, I’ve been like this since middle school when I was still listening to only country music.’

“They wouldn’t believe that though, they only want to believe what they wish was true—that way it would justify banning this music. What they should do is ban people from having children. God knows we don’t need any more people to destroy the earth.”

She paused, trying not to focus on the thought suddenly whelming through her mind. Her razors were on the head board behind her, lying so temptingly close she could already feel the biting pain of the blade on her flesh.

She wanted to feel the pain; hell she just wanted to feel, to have her heart pumping blood and adrenaline through her veins, it would be a nepenthe for her shattered, welded-steel heart.

Now she wanted to die, she desires to feel death rip her soul from the world and ravage her physical vessel beyond repair. She wanted to stop the pain rushing through her soul, defiling her pure heart and shattering her innocence. God, she wanted to slice her wrist, feel the blood gushing out and see the bright red stain on the floor and skin.

Couldn’t god just give her this one gift? Just take her soul from her body so she didn’t have to rip apart her own flesh? Couldn’t god just grant her oblivion?

She couldn’t stand being alone in the world any longer, but she couldn’t stand company either. Everything around her shone of factitiousness and hypocrisy—she hated everything about her and the world she was tortured to remain in.

Heart thumping wildly she forced herself to think of other things, trying hard to block all thought of her blades out of her mind—she feared these moments the most. The moments when all she felt was emptiness, when there was peace around her boring her with the futility of it all—that was when she knew she could kill herself.

When she was empty, she could slice deep enough to die—she knew it, she knew it’d be easy because there wouldn’t be any reason. If there was reason to do something, there was reason not to do it as well—but these moments when the reason for action was lacking, she had nothing to stop her from striving for death.

Breathing deeply to calm her racing heart, she left her attic bedroom to escape the temptation to cut—if she didn’t have the means she couldn’t do it. The tremor rising within her, she walked to the small confined space next to her room—a darkly shadowed, storage type space that she always used to hide in when she was younger.

No one ever looked for her there, and the space had a comforting aura with its solitude—she lost count of how many times she cried herself out of tears in its darkness. She only knew that there was comfort in that space, she had the illusion of being detached from the world in the shadows—she could pretend she was dead.

No one, not even herself could bother her in this dark haven as she slowly drifted asleep in its comfort.