Perspective

chapter 4

I stare at the ceiling; just thinking. I've been having trouble concentrating lately and I'm not too sure why. I'm stuck thinking of who I am and what I'm meant to do. I had to do something, what was it? Who am I?

I shake my head trying to push the dark thoughts away and just continue to stare at the ceiling.

***

I drop the knife in my hand as the blood drips out of my arm. How did this happen? I barely remember grabbing the knife let alone hurting myself with it. I hear shuffling on the other side of the door so I quickly clean up and put away the knife.

***

I scream at the top of my lungs. I just want everything to be quiet. I just want quiet. Everything's too loud. Everything's too loud. Why do people talk? Why can't my mind be quiet?

I scream again. I just want quiet.

***

I feel like I'm paralyzed. I could move but finding the will in myself to do so is taking more effort than I would like to admit. So I stare at my pillow case. It's yellow.

***

I have a headache again. I believe that everyday I have lived I have had at least one headache. I don't understand why, I just wish they would stop.

***

I look in the mirror and I have to stare for a bit. The person looking back at me, isn't me. They just simply aren't. I have no idea who they are, but they're not me.

***

I'm in class trying to read but everyone is talking and won't shut up. I just want to yell. Someone's tapping their pen against the desk. Someone's chewing gum loudly. Someone keeps looking over at me.

I just want to be in my room.

***

I sink to the floor. All I can think of is hurting myself. Flashes of my arms and neck covered in blood flash through my mind. Along with nasty words that do not seem to be from me.

***

As I wrote in my journal I think about my life. It truly hasn't been that bad, has it?

I mean sure there isn't a day where I haven't thought of killing myself but at least I'm alive, right? I truly don't know what to think anymore. I'm just tired. I'm having trouble finding the point in anything. In life. In effort. In family. In school. In anything.

I hang my head and just stop writing.

What's the point?

***

I listen to other people talk about their childhood and how they remember them. And I want to join in but I don't really have anything to say. I only know the basics of my childhood.

We moved around a lot. I had a new "father" every couple of years. There's been a couple of times we were homeless.

Oh but I do remember baking with my grannie dimple! Yeah that's basically the only good memory, really.

So I just keep my mouth shut and listen to the others tell their childhood memories.