Silent Screams

Free Write 1

Feelings are confusing. One moment you can think you're alright, that everything is better, but then a simple word can tear you down. A simple phrase can worry you, and your head will run through thoughts too fast to comprehend. Your own mind will be the thing that kills you. You're not sure anymore of how you feel towards certain people because your words and thoughts have romanticized them in different levels. People start to think you're in love or that you actually can love people. That you're capable of something that you've never known how to do. Irony is suddenly everywhere, and you're a hypocrite. You encourage people to stop their bad habits and come to you when they need help with theirs, but when a word invokes a feeling, you can't control yourself. Suddenly, you're a mess of red on the bathroom floor. Your tile is stained, but you can't move from your spot on the floor because you can't see straight. You wonder what type of person does this to themselves, and why you're even here. How can someone who hates themselves so much still be alive? How can you understand that you have worth, but yet, you keep saying how terrible you are? It's not comprehendable, and yet the way you phrase things to other people makes everything make sense. I could tell myself the same three words that I told you, and I would never believe them. It's tricky being the person who's always there for people when you can't pick yourself up. It's tricky trying to move around when your body is sore from self loathing, and yet you have to go through the day pretending that you're okay. And then you get home. Homework is too much, and your friends never reply. You know that your friend likes you in a way you don't return, but you're caught between two different guys and you're not sure what to do. You don't know how you feel and your head hurts. Your heart aches. You want it to be over with because everything is falling apart. The shower invokes thoughts you can't understand, and your time is flying by. You decided your addiction wasn't killing you, so you continue and pull out your pen. You write in silver, but you're confused because it comes out in such a brilliant red. Everything is blurry, and the water is a pink color you've never found beautiful until now. Your understanding of the world is suddenly flipped upside down. You want to get drunk and forget everything you ever knew, but your family's in the house. You know it would be bad to do, yet the urge is there. Everything seems to be piling against you, but you know you have to stay alive. But being alive and living are two different things. You're not living, you're just alive. Your hips are lined with lines old and new, and the faint lines only you can trace on your thighs beckon to be opened again. You have a box in your room with your favorite pens, but you can't pull it out. You're not making sense and you want to be loved. You want to be held tightly to someone else's body, but you know that you're not desirable in that way. You are a hypocrite, but fear is settling in because you realize you might have shared too much. Your fingers move in motions too quick for your brain to keep up, and everything is a jumble of emotions. You can leave it all here or save it for some other time. Leaving it out in the open for everyone to see is a bad idea, but you don't care. Everything seems wrong, but you keep doing what you can to keep up your perfect persona. You can't remember the last time you ate enough for lunch or breakfast, and you're loosing weight. Your mother is concerned, but your father hasn't seen the effects. The doctor tells you to eat more. You lie to her. You tell her that you have started eating more, but you haven't. Your thoughts are a mess. You don't trust yourself to reply; you've revealed too much. Your only thought its to get out. To get out of this house, go do something bad. You're not sure what, but your head screams at you not to do what your heart is curious of. You need to be daddy's little girl still, but you have to make sure you can get what you want. You dress in a way that you once thought was wrong. You think of doing things that are terrible, but your mind doesn't care. You want to feel something new. But a reckless mind is a dangerous mine, and you have to stay here. What would your little brother think if you ended up dead? He wouldn't remember you. Your sisters would be devastated, so you hold on. You keep your thoughts bottled up and write them on varying canvases. Skin, paper, walls, the tile. Your ink varies in color and the amount that exists. You feel light headed. What have you done? You haven't done anything truly, but thinking of these things is dangerous. You need to stop. But when will you start to feel again.

I realize this probably makes no sense. My mind is a million miles an hour, and I can feel the effect of the lack of sleep.