Behind the Mask

Stress Release: Outside of the Circle

I cried today.

Not because someone yelled at me. Not because I was given a bad grade. No. It was from a silence. And it wasn't because someone was ignoring me, either.

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I am scared of rejection and the inability to speak.

Whale, that happened today.

I don't know how to explain it. Let's just say that I was rejected by a social group. When I participated, they ignored me. But when another person, my enemy, offered the same idea, everyone in the class exploded in excitement. When everyone else picked fun of this one girl for say something stupid, I chimed in, and the whole classroom went silent.

At that very moment, I decided to be silent for the rest of the class period. Because apparently, I wasn't able to join in with what everyone else was doing. Because I am not on the same level of social status. Because I am not able to pull out the right jokes at the right time. Because my opinions aren't as important as others.

Because, of all people, I'm the only one that doesn't deserve to live.

My current life is the result of lies and rumors, surrounding me with tall walls of black diamond. With every arm, leg, left arm, right leg, the wall only doubles in size. It has grown to a level in which I fall down to the earth, only to try to climb out again. And the higher it builds, the darker it is at the bottom. Until I can somehow see the light again, I'll be well dead. Either by starvation, lack of respiration, or insane depression. Until the day I die, only then will they recognize me as a human being, just like them. But by then, I'll be rotten, pale, and with cuts all over my skin. Or, my head could be fractured into a million pieces.

And then, people ask why I am still living in the cell. Why?

Because I don't fit in with humanity. Because I was never living, either.

I think it's almost been about a month since I last cried to myself. Every effort I kept to stay alive, it's all gone to waste. I think I must've slipped and fell, because I am at a peak low.

I wish my fingers could flick inbetween keys the same way that my thoughts are flashing. Every thought only lasts for a second, most of them incomplete.

If I were to describe how I feel, I'd say I'm having really dark epilepsy. Instead of colors, I see black, white, and sometimes grey. Instead of daydreams, I have nightmares. And for nightmares, I instead see hellish hallucinations. One more step, and drugs would turn to arsenic.

Most of the time, I want to say that I have Borderline Personality Disorder. It's not an excuse for my actions and thoughts. It's not something I'm proud to say of. Instead, I think its the only thing I can be hopeful about. If I do have it, then at least I know that there are people like me. At least I have some sense of appreciation. At least I am not alone in that community.

I never have been diagnosed, and probably will never be, in the future. Because, to my parents, my mental health is nothing like my physical health. Because they don't want to waste money in finding out a "useless" emotional problem. Because they know that they don't have it, so should I, because genetics is the main cause of everything. Because there is no purpose in trying to find out now, when I am already in the quicksand.

It's getting dark, and nighttime provokes more than just cold and lightless-ness.