"Oh how I am jealous of the way the 'sun' is praised by those who are frightened of the dark as they wait, impatiently, for the 'sun' to congratulate them for making it to the morning. Oh how I wish that I didn't ever have to see the 'sun's' beauty again. I wish for the darkness to engulf me, taking me from this world, cradling me in its comforting arms, loving me.
Oh how I long for 'love'. Just one, tiny, smidgen of 'love'. A "how are you" when I greet people, a query of how I have been from friends, a small acknowledgement of my presence. To know that I am real. To know that there is life within me and for others to believe this as well. To not have to hold a razor sharp blade against my skin to know that I am alive, breathing and bleeding. Someone to tell me that they like me or even tolerate me. I need to know so I can act accordingly. I need to know the truth, am I a burden on those around me? I feel like a burden.
It happens every day. I don't know if they mean it or if they're just bored, but they can't seem to find anyone else. Maybe because everyone else is just too perfect and I'm the imperfection. They want to scrub away the disgusting infection so they can continue living their completely flawless and self-centred lives.
Why do people do this? It doesn't benefit them, it just damages those who aren't fit for their world. They are creating a society that is incapable of 'love' just so that they can have their perfection. They are OCD patients attacking Earth, but now, it feels like they are solely attacking me. They have almost achieved their greatest desires, but now I stand in their way. I am the only reason that they are not satisfied and if I believed in and loved myself maybe, just maybe I could stand up and stop them, but I can't. I can't stop their havoc. They have crushed me too much. I am beyond repair. The thought that they will win almost starts a fight in me, but the knowledge that they will just beat me back down, harder than before, stops me. I could never do anything that would give me my freedom back.
Their abuse will haunt me until the day I die. I will never rid my head of their taunts; instead, they will play over and over again, like a soundtrack on repeat, destined to never stop, to never end. I fear that even when I am gone and blanked in the calming darkness, their taunts will creep their way back to me, bit by bit until I will be surrounded by my own hell, destined to never escape, to be contained forever.
This fear is the only reason I haven't ended my life. Instead, I wait, desperately, for the day where I can run away from this reality and be free to be my own person, create my own life. I know this day will come, I still have a few years to go, but it will come, and when it does, I can only imagine how grateful I will feel that I made it. But until that day, I have to live my life as well as I can. I have a plan; every day, for the next 2027 days, I will force myself to be as 'happy as' the 'sun', to 'shine' and be the best that I can be. To get out of 'bed' every morning, throw open my 'curtains' and say "good morning" to the world as I stare 'through [my] window', trying to find the good in life, one thing that I can focus on each day to help me endure my torcher.
This is how I will survive."
YOU ARE READING
Survival of the Fittest
Historia CortaI'm sure you all understand how it feels to be bullied, well so do I. But, unlike you, I have a plan of how I will get through this horrid time in my life. I am determined to make it through the next 2027 days until I finally graduate. Sample: "Oh...
