There are things you will take to the grave. Things you've seen, things you've done, things that have been done to you. You refuse to share your secrets. Secrets that are terrible; unspeakable. You don't want to let someone else in. You can't even fathom the fantasy of someone wandering around the room of your deepest desires and regrets. To you, that would be borderline vulnerable and you reject that trait as much as you reject seeing your face in a photograph with all of your friends. And you know that both of those rejections stunt your potential to feel content with yourself. Yet, you continuously add to the bottles on your shelf; anger, shame, sadness, hatred, guilt.
You have about a thousand things inside your head you wish you hadn't seen. You don't want to let them see how much weight it puts on you; if they see what hides behind your personality then they'll see the real you. And the real you scares the hell out of you, so much so that you're convinced it will terrify the ones you have close and ward off the potential relationships that could find their way to you. They'll see the anxiety putting pressure on your legs and you don't have the energy anymore to chase the things that make you happy if they runoff.
Things that have been done to you and the things you've done are things you've shed a hundred tears over. Occasionally, you convince yourself they didn't happen. You see them as distorted memories or just bad dreams or some kind of figment of your imagination. You convince yourself that they can't be real; they couldn't have possibly happened. But, other times, they don't seem so fictitious. They haunt your spirit and resurrect every single overwhelming emotion and blends them together into a brutal cocktail of torment. Rattling and hurling itself around in your head, compromising your face and interfering with your livelihood; impeding on your will.
And you don't want anyone feeling bad for you. You don't want their sympathies, you don't want them to treat you any differently than they would if they didn't know how very much alive the bodies are in the graveyard of your trauma. You want to be treated like a normal person. You are not normal. You are not like anyone they have ever met before and shall ever meet again. And they are unaware. You are not surprised that you might be in hell.
YOU ARE READING
TWENTYYOUNG (nsfw)
General FictionTWENTYYOUNG is a conceptual compilation of short stories that detail the ups and downs of being in their prime years. From the pressure of school, to money, to sex, to love, to lost, to drugs, to depression; a collection of things that most youth fe...
