Anthological

Wrong

Words: 494

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          3.    You don't know where it went wrong.  Maybe at the school where all your self-esteem was wrecked. Maybe at the house where you were raised to be strong and to not cry and to do as your mother tells you. Maybe at the bars you used to go to to forget everything ever existed. Maybe at the beds where you try to drown yourself in pleasure and forget the pain. Maybe inside the walls you built too high for anyone to get in and too high for you to get out of but you build higher everyday anyways. Maybe at the hospital where you were born.

                You don't know who went wrong. The people who raised you. The teachers that taught you. The people you chose to be friends with. The people who chose to be friends with you. The people who fell in love with you and fell out just as quickly. The people judging you, hating you for what you are, your skin colour, your race, your religion, your sexuality. The people telling you you're not enough. The people telling you you're too much. You yourself. 

                You don't know when it all went wrong.  When you were a kid and easily coerced and gullible and naïve? When you were a teen and stupid and young and immature and intensely fake-deep? When you were on the brink of adulthood and built walls and burned bridges and cut all ties to almost everybody? When you became an adult and tried to survive outside of you daydream-world and failed drastically? When you were born?

               You don't know how it went wrong. You had planned your future. You were careful. You used to be so cheerful and you used to be optimistic. You just don't know how all of  this happened.

                  You don't know what went wrong.  The plans you had made or the people you'd planned it with or the people you'd planned to be with  and the people you'd planned to cut out of your life but never did or the people you'd planned to have in your life forever but accidentally cut out or the people you were going to meet if this was a cliché movie or the people who you were supposed to fall for and the people who you weren't.

                  You don't know what's wrong with you. It could be the way you're always scared, always nervous. It could be the way you're sometimes sad without ever really knowing why, sometimes empty without anything happening to make you. It could be the almost uncontrollable urge to kill yourself whenever something goes remotely wrong. It  could  be the overwhelming stress surrounding your body every waking moment and some nightmares, too. It could be the darkness overtaking your brain and causing migraines and sorrow. It could be the ice and fire stinging in your veins and the barely repressed rage just waiting to come out. 

Maybe you're the only thing that's wrong.