The archive of the forgotten

Atlas: Fuck this

I was too tired for names. So I simply called it what it was. Enjoy.And couldn;t remember an name.

When you grow up you imagine yourself in twenty different ways. Or more, when you are a child as clueless as I was, more, you cover every single possibility. Every single step. And now you stare at the hollow eyes in the emaciated sickly body and you realise none of them, could have ever come to this.

A cigarette hanging from your mouth and strangely short hair, a nose too big for your face, and cheeks that have sunken so much that a cheekbone is no longer enjoyable. Yes, androgynous, just like you imagined, but do you have it in you to care? The zombie standing in front of the mirror cannot be described as beautiful or ugly, only thing to say about it is that it is the personification of dread.

I take off my tie, the and look in the mirror cursing my fragile ego and sense of self before wiping away the tears and walking back to the dinner table where my parents are sitting. My eyes still focused on the floor where I would rather lie down and cry for a fickle moment of time. Take a deep breath and wonder why everyone cannot just go away. But it's a strange hypocrisy in my mind, I want everyone to embrace me, I want everyone to hate me. I want everything to be over, I want my life to be a hollow void so I can finally give up on it. I want to do something that's stupid. I want to cry, I want to be someone else, I want to kill myself, I want to break something I love, I want to laugh hysterically, I want to hate the world, I want to do so many things. But I just pour a cup of tea.

My mother points at a picture and smiles. "You used to be such a sweet child. Look at you and your friends. You were so perfect."
Were, yes, I will never be him anymore. How could I be, I am insane aren't I? They tell me I am. And all I want to do is throw a glass at their head and tell them I am fine. I cannot be insane, look at who I am, look at the possibilities of my brain, the way they write, the way it studies. How can anything be wrong with that?
"I miss him." My father says with a chuckle as I light my cigarette and he hugs me. I hope he burns himself at the end of the stick that hopefully destroys my lungs and kills me before I do it myself. It's a different do it yourself project, but it can't be that hard can it? Well you've failed once didn't you Atlas.
"I need to be alone Mum, dad, the others will be back home soon. Can you please leave?" I ask as my lip trembles but the despondent face still doesn't shift as it tilts.
"Are you sure you can be alone?" My mother says. "After the psychiatrists and after.... You know the possibility."
"What do you think I will do? Kill myself." I say my face not shifting as I stare into her eyes.
She hesitates as she looks at my covered wrists and I feign a smile, showing her I was joking. It is not her fault, she cannot think it is. "Just go mum. I will be fine." I lie as she walks to the door. I'll let her go, I hope she does the same for me.

I stare at the pill in front of me and wipe away the eyeliner that was falsely advertised as waterproof. I chuckle to myself as I remind myself that it is good that guns are illegal in the UK. it's not easy to fail at that. What a failure I am, even in death I would be.  I stare at my hands and my wrists cannot escape my eye, a few of them have been freshly carved and the pain traces the newly forming scars. I begin to wonder when bad luck becomes carelessness. And when life becomes surviving, if it ever changes I don't think I know what either looks like anymore. I am.... Wandering. I remember those years ago, the fact that I was foolish enough to think I couldn't survive that....
Maybe I am the problem....
I must be the problem.....
I am

I walk up the stairs and close my eyes, hoping I miraculously trip and fall back down, splitting my head open on one of the antique cabinets and being remembered as that one ghost that should be haunting the house, I genuinely hope they mistake me for a Victorian one. But as I close my eyes I do not fall down the flight of stairs, and life does not grant me mercy again. So All I can do is sigh and rub my temples.
Foggy, nothing else but foggy.
When will that fucking miracle happen, the miracle of growing up and understanding what the fuck you need to do because every step till now I have done it wrong. Or at least, at first.... 
I walk into my room, half of it has its new wallpaper, I still need to get used to it. I sit down on my bed and an old picture stares at me, my friends and I cannot be older than 13. I am sitting on the shoulders of my best friend and smiling, stupidly, foolishly, childishly. Was it a fake one that time too? I tilt my head and see my own accusing grin, what have you done to him, what have you done to this innocent boy. You have killed him, how ruthless are you? Why did you do that? How did you have the heart to do that? I grab the frame and throw it to the wall. Shut up! He cannot be happy, remember atlas, remember! You weren't happy were you? Have you ever known happiness. Have you ever been truthful to yourself?
In anger I start looking for it, I put it somewhere. where is it?? I smile as I find the old letter and fold it open, the creases through the writing look like borders crossing through a wartorn country. I straighten it and try to read the untidy handwriting of the suicide note I have written three years ago. I take a deep breath and tilt my head. The anger seeping through the letters is so different from this hopelessness now coursing through my veins. I was so foolish, so immature... I smile as I read the line: I always imagined some kind of poetic calligraphy but all my brain can do is ramble and so I will. I close my eyes and smile as I read this strange declaration of death with it's cynical dark humour that makes fun of my own death while proving how frightened I was of both life and death. And still, this letter seems so..... selfish. I crumple the paper again, fuck this. You will have a redo now, this time you will be a good one and you will be a good person. There has always been this strange doubt in me. Something that nags me forever and ever and will not stop. I know, or well, I hope I could be a good person but what is the thing preventing it? Why can't I simply be, easy, good, and happy.

I feel naseous as my eyes leak tears on the ground as I cannot seem to close them. I dig my nail into my skin, hoping to draw blood again as my breath slowly stops normally and moves to a place where I know I need to sit down. I close my eyes and put my hands on my face and curse myself out as I try my best to ignore the pieces of glass around me. Why didn't I buy one with plastic? You posh prick.

I take a deep breath and slowly climb into my bed and close my eyes as I whimper like a lost puppy. But in reality I just hope I will finally stop breathing. Just so I do not have to do all the work for this once. I just want to give up, let me give up for once, I am tired of being resilient, I don't need to be persistent anymore. I need rest. I need to be forgotten.

I open my eyes when I hear walking in the halls and I immediately stand up. Trying to avoid my partner in the halls. I love him, but sometimes I have to face the facts. Sometimes it's just bad, and sometimes it is worse than it has been in years and even your partner cannnot and will not put a smile on your face. So it feels better to avoid them, I do not have to make them feel guilty and the problem that I am.
And still somehow, he always find me. Just like he did today, he is standing in front of me, beautiful as ever as I am still cosplaying death. But I still do not have the energy to put on a smile, and so I don't. I can't.
I look up and tilt my head, I want to hurt him. So he will finally leave, so he will let me die. So I won't hurt him. I want him to hate me. Please hate me. I once wanted to be remembered but I have found out there's a condition to being remembered... and that is fondly, Or not at all. So not at all seems to be cause the less pain for other people, so if he hates me now. I can forgive myself if I kill his lover.
But then he looks at you with his smile and those thoughts simply vanish. I hate how I love him, and I love how I love him. He is the only part of me that I can love without condition. And so they smile and they ask how you're doing because you haven't uttered a word for most of the day and you look in their eyes. Amd his eyes will always surprise me still in love with the shadow I have become, still strangely in love, still hopeful, and still admiring the person that is no longer housed in this body.
"How can you still love me?" I ask as I sigh and expect a lie.
"How could I not? You are the person I fell in love with and every day, bad or good, I will continue. Something as trivial as a mental health disorder does not change it." He says as he grabs my hand and we sit down on the bed.
"it's not trivial to me. It means that I am insane. It means that you will not have the partner I was when you fell in love. I won't be the reason that you love me. Our memories will."
"Love shifts, my heart, I fell in love with you, not your abilities, or the happiness that had been harboured in your soul. I will forever harbour the same feelings for you. Through storms and clear skies."
"But I am nothing but too much work..... You will get tired. I cannot even put in the work to smile for you."
"You do not lie to me with a smile, I can only be happy about that, my heart." He kisses my forehead and the tears stream down my face as I try not to move as I cry.
"You deserve better." I whisper as he puts his forehead against mine, his blue eyes searching for mine.
"And you, my Hjärtat, you are so much better than you think." 

Orion and my partner are sitting next to me. In the cold, in the garden, none of us wearing and jackets and all of us only short sleeves. The trembling has long stopped and replaced the sensation of cold with numbness. Our mouths leave traces of smoke, both from our cigarettes and from the evidence that we are alive.
"Do you think I will make it to thirty?"
Orion smiles and puts an arm around me.
"Why don't we say we make it another year, and then we will see."
"Do you think I'll be fine."
"Probably not." He answers. "But hey, fuck this. Since when do we need to be fine to do something incredible?"
"All the best ones were insane." My partner chuckles.

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