Recovery of The Numb And Broken (boyxboy)

Chapter 2: The Ghost Boy

Chapter 2 ~ The Ghost Boy

It's easy to hide emotions as some people would say, but once it came right down to it, people's emotions flowed out of them like a river. No matter who you are, there is always emotion, even if its subtle and unnoticeable to some other people, it's there in the shadows. Always, Always. It hurts sometimes. Not like when you get a cut or get punched. It's a much worse pain. Like someone was strangling every piece of you all at once.

Some people choose pain to overpower that pain. Others stayed strong as you might say. As for me? I crumbled, not able to take it anymore. The constant agony of being beat around, harassed, and the feeling of being something the world hates and needed to get rid of. Something worthless. Sometimes people don't realize the effects they have on people I guess. I didn't get to far in leaving this pain and this world, but i guess i'm glad I didn't. I may not be here, but Im still here. I will help myself and other people on the road to recovery.

I feel it's my duty, maybe. Then again I could always sit back and start playing pranks on people in this what seems to be ghostly state, but some of them can see me and I don't want the chance of getting someone sent off to some sort of psychopathic ward or something for thinking someone was in their room (me), when there obviously was no one.

I'm slowly getting used to the feeling of being just practically a ghost to some people, or sometimes being physically there to others.

It would be fun to try and pull pranks though... I growled at my thoughts. 'Shut it.' I ended up smirking anyways thinking of freaking out the patients and workers.

I remembered I walked into some random patients room and looked back at a guy sitting in front of me, rightside up on a hostpital bed. He sat there staring at me. I would've thought he were dead if it weren't for the rhythmical movement of his chest. I could also hear the faint beep of his heart monitor. I knew he could tell that I was having a conversation with myself, which was normal to me, but I guess not so much to him considering the look he was givng me.

I have no life or friends, you didn't guess? I stared right back at him. He looked down at his lap. Awe. He noticed he was staring. Pity. 'Pity? Brain what the hell are you thinking?!'

"I um, didn't mean to stare at you its just...i just...don't understand. I mean, help me recover? You can't help me recover. I dont need help. There is nothing left of meto recover or save in general anyway."

I stared at him for a few minutes. I wasn't surprised that he said he didn't need my help or didn't believe he could recover. I felt that way. Sometimes it comes back, unnoticabley like the wind, whispering in your ear, telling you "You can't do it, you're pathetic, die. You'll never be able to recover." I noticed that he started to look away and around the room. He seems to be slightly uncomfortable with my gaze or more likely spacing out. Maybe just my prescence in general.

"You're not dead. You're alive, You're awake, You're breathing, and you don't have thousands of different tubes coming out of you." I started to pace back and forth. "Youre not even on the verge of death! Youre perfectly healthy. Why did i do this to myself? What the hell am i even thinking?!" I

was talking to myself out loud. Shit.

I was actually kind of irritated by his "I just want to be sad. Leave me alone and let me die, nothings gonna make me better or make me feel better" attitude. Maybe it was jealousy because death wasn't knocking on his door. Or maybe it was because he reminded me of what i was like. I mentally sighed, disappointed in myself. He didn't say anything. I think it was more of he couldn't cause there was nothing to say. Maybe he's magically starting to realise he doesn't have it as bad others! I snorted.Yeah right.