My throat felt like it was on fire, the hot flames scorching the skin, turning it into a black, unrecognizable mess, a shadow, a ghost of what it had previously been. I could feel the emptiness that weighed heavy in the cave I called a chest, wondering how it was possible for me to be so hollow on the inside, and yet all I could feel was this unbearable heaviness pressing down on me, smothering me with the pain that consumed my entire being. Hayden's arms still lay over my body, clinging to me as if to protect me, to sacrifice her safety in order to preserve my own. A jolt of pain tore through me as I moved ever so slightly, my eyes widening at the sudden surge, trembling a bit as the sensation continued to radiate through my body for a few minutes longer, making me slightly nauseous. The light from my alarm clock illuminated the darkness of the room, almost too bright, my eyes aching at the intensity of the flashing numbers, all my senses still over-sensitized from my episode hours earlier. Everything hurt so incredibly bad, searing through my veins, ripping my skin to shreds, breaking my bones, shattering me like a vase into pieces scattered across the floor, too small to pick up and put back together again. The sadness had not faded in any way, still trying to break me down into the nothing that I already knew that I was, beating me to the floor until I was bloodied and begging for sweet mercy, a relief that would never come. In my sadness I found anger, hatred for everyone around me including my family for the pain they had continuously caused me, for not believing me, for never taking me seriously when I was telling the truth, for breaking me when I was already so broken, for never supporting me in my moments of weakness, for not listening to the few words I managed to speak, for being completely oblivious to the pain I was in and never making an attempt to understand my desperation, my disease, my sadness. There was so much pain boiling up within the confines of my body, blood bubbling at the intensity of the heat, burning me from the inside out, leaving mere traces of bone fragments in a pile of ash on the hard floor that not even the coldness of the tiles could cool. The pieces of me lay on the ground, shattered fragments of myself sprawled out in every direction like a broken glass, shards bursting outward as the impact radiated through the fragile object, each one sharp like a knife and able to shred your skin so that you too, felt the unbearable, raw feeling that consumed every single razor-sharp piece. I now understood that it was possible for me to pick up the pieces and put them back together, but they would never fit the same as they once had, too jagged and torn to ever be placed in the same order, creating something new out of someone so broken, and I found that I was very content with that thought, accepting my fate as if there were no other options left.
At one point in time, I would have run from my fears, refusing to face the reality that somehow terrified me beyond any rational comprehension, baffling those who loved me and even myself. I realized that I was no longer afraid because I already knew the truth, and though I was unsure of how I had acquired this knowledge, I was thankful for the information that had brought me a feeling of peace and acceptance. I was everything and nothing all at once; I was the wind, the thunder outside the window, the storm that lashes out in rage on the ground below, the guy that never called, the girl who wished you did, the summer sun beating down on your back, the coldness of the snow beneath your boots, that old story you started writing but could never finish, the reject, the musician, the artist that was never good enough to earn praise, the child crying in the corner, that girl from work that everyone stays away from, the monster, the savior, and yet none of those things made me vital or significant in any way, but I had accepted my role as being a nobody with pride, hoping that I could still change the world with my ambitions. Fear was out of sight and out of mind in a sense, though I was terrified of them, I was no longer afraid of what was buried inside me, because I could not deny that there was something really wrong with me, but it was impossible to pinpoint what it was. In the midst of myself exploration, I found that even though the sadness felt like it was crushing me, pushing one final breath from my soul before consuming me completely, I needed the pain. You need enough pain in life to know what's real, it gives you a sense of self, something to grasp onto when pleasure lets you float away from reality. When happiness fades to black, the world comes crashing down around me, burying me in the dust and concrete walls. The worst part of it all was that I felt like I deserved every bit of what I was getting, every scratch, every bruise, and all the self-hatred, the agony I was constantly held in.
