And at last I know what I want to be. I want to be a soul. A soul without a body, without a cage. Souls don't have ages, souls don't have limits. They are bound to their own passion, and they go where ever they please.
Not much has happened since the encounter in the basement, I suppose this is a good thing. Means the meds are finally starting to work. It's sort of like pealing away a bandage, exposing the raw, pink skin to the elements. All of the icky, gooey bits that were clogging my mind have been cleared away. I feel…I don't know how I feel.
That's the thing about these pills. After they sweep through you, they leave behind something you thought you had lost. Now you don't have the slightest idea what to do with it. You're afraid you might dirty it up, re-infect the clean wound. But what you don't realize is, it's already too late. You've removed the bandage, it's already filthy. It's already doomed.
Doomed.
That's how I feel, doomed.
I don't like all the icky shit being removed. I don't like my scars being on full display, for anyone to see. I earned these scars, I made them myself and now everyone thinks they have a fucking right to see them whenever they want.
And I'm just supposed to roll over and take it. Flash my soft underbelly for the entire fucking world to laugh at. Fuck that, fuck this, fuck them.
I slink off my bed, where I've had this epiphany, and walk into my bathroom. The florescent light is twice as blinding as it was before I got these demon seeds pumped into me. I blink about five hundred times before I rip open the medicine cabinet, yank out the orange bottles and look at them one last time.
'Look me in the eyes, like a fucking man. Don't you fucking pussy out you little shit. Be a man. BE A MAN, MOTHER FUCKER!', the bottles keep their eyes to the floor in shame. Waiting out my episode, waiting for me to stop being such a pussy.
Well, such rudeness must be punished.
I twist off the pearly caps and dump the pills down the pisser. A small, rainbow collection forms at the bottom of the bowl.
'Pussy, fucking…fucking pussy. Bitch, fuck…' the words crawl out of my throat, scraping, scratching my throat on the way up. Then, before I know what's happening, my eyeballs spring a leak.
Tears pour down, spilling into my mouth, making me choke. My chest tightens up, it feels like an elephant is sitting on my heart. I gasp, cough and choke on my tears.
On my emotions. On the things I've been trying to hide.
The very things I've been trying to forget.
YOU ARE READING
It Needs a Name
Teen FictionJamie is struggling with his mental health, sexuality, and his addiction to self-harm. His mother seeks refuge in the bottles of the booze she drinks late at night to escape the horrible event in the not-to-distant past. Jamie is torn between his i...
