The Wires Case [ h.s ]

Chapter 49

TW: mid violence and suicide
one of my most personal and real chapters.

Brooke Wires

Emptiness is a funny thing.

Since I had a mind of my own, all that I can remember is feeling somehow a void inside me. Even in those blurry memories, I've always felt like a black hole. Empty of anything.

I don't remember a moment where I was truly happy. I don't think I've ever been. Because as much as you can see someone smiling, laughing or just enjoying the time they share with you, you will never know what they are thinking, how they are truly feeling...or what they are truly hiding.

You don't realize it until you're old enough to understand about the ups and lows of mental health that the path you already walked was nothing but a dangerous ride under a pouring storm, and that all you have left is that moment of waiting for the lighting that will end it all.

That lighting that will make you deviate from the road and fall into a void that you already know very well, but that this time it will finally have an end to it.

The problem with all this pain is that it becomes addictive, as much as we don't want to admit it. After all, we are so deprived of feelings because the only thing we know is that emptiness inside us, which is really just all the pain of all the years, of all the words spoken and of all the horrible moments lived that runs through our veins and fills us, creating an invisible layer over our person every day that we end up wearing like our own skin. And when that pain is all you know–the only thing you have felt since your first steps– it becomes such a painful comfort zone that it feels impossible to let go, even when it hurts you so much that you question your own existence, and if continuing living is an option anymore.

I think, deep down, there will always be a part of me that craves all that pain. Even when it lets me without being able to breath or with bleeding thighs or with a burning nose. Deep down it feels so good, that I know there will always be a tiny hand grabbing into it so strongly it will be impossible to let go.

Because happiness is a state of mind. It's not something permanent, something meant to keep forever. Is something meant to be broken, to be unsure, to be hard, difficult. So difficult but yet so carving that when we're so tired mentally to try and search for it, we welcome the pain of it. Happiness has two sides. The good one, filled with nice memories, comforting words and warm hugs–the one you wish to perish forever, but the one that never stays permanently; and the one that comes with the comfort of your own pain.

But everything changes when that pain starts affecting others. When you truly know how heartwrenching everything you are feeling is, you never wish for anyone else to feel it. Because you're used to it, you can handle it. After all, it's nothing new from what you've been dealing with since being a kid. Just an empty body, an empty mind and an empty heart that slowly fills with so much hatred for yourself it ends up making you drown.

And because you have to look at your reflection in the mirror everyday, you know what drowning looks like. You can see it in the bags under your eyes, in your messy hair, and in the lifeless stare that looks back at you. And seeing it on yourself feels right, like you deserve it. Like there's something you did to be feeling this way, because if there wasn't then you wouldn't have gone through it to start with.

But when it's not yourself, but another person you see staring back at you in that mirror, you start to wish you never had to go through all that pain. You start to wish it wasn't in a comfort zone anymore. You wish it was something you could get rid off, because staring at the eyes of someone you love and watching them suffer with all that you have, seeing them feel and listen to every bad thought you tell yourself daily it's what makes you stop that blade from cutting into the skin of your thighs and just wish you were different for them so that you wouldn't have to put them through all that misery.