The Silence.

Call this what you must.

I'm not mad.

I can't handle to much noise. Whenever I find myself surrounded by busy people who can't stop the words from pouring out from their lips, I feel as if I might explode, or scream. Sometimes I even think I'll turn homicidal. 

I especially cannot deal with being pushed to socialize with those who are two-faced. People I had met who treated me like dirt below their shoes but now smiled at me like I was actually someone to them. Wow, just... wow. Those are the people who cause my guts to knot and my blood to boil, turn black with the need to lose it and just rip and break... something. Preferably skin, meat... bones. Their skin and bones. Tear off their lying smiles and beady eyes. Drink their pleading screams and tainted prayers. I could probably bathe in their rotting flesh. They deserve it for hurting me. For hurting them.

I'm not crazy.

I bask in silence, solidarity. I enjoy my friends, my mother and the little bit of family who do not look upon her and I as the black sheep of my family. They may not enjoy me, but at least they put up with me.

When I'm left alone though, a sense of ease washes through me. I feel as if I can finally breathe, as if my thoughts can finally flow free. The only company I have is me, myself, and I. I don't really want to include my pets, because by now I know they know I am a hopeless case. They too choose to stick by me, thick and thin. 

I wonder if they understand my need for silence. I want to say yes, that they do. That's why animals are so quiet, only speaking through looks and actions. No painful words, no broken promises and bloody lies. Just love, such naive love. 

Maybe they understand when I have my scenes. My pets know the reasons for my screaming and my self-abusive tendencies, and they forgive me. They do not judge. No one else understands.

I'm not hurt.

That is why I can sit here, silently watching as rain drops dance across my rooms window, cat by my side and dog at the foot of my bed. 

In my room, there is the gentle noise of a clock that does not actually exist, ticks away and counts each milisecond that goes by as I watch the rain.

How long have I actually been sitting here, on my bed, watching the rain make nonsensible patterns across my one bedroom window?

My back aches and as I begin to move it feels as if my legs have fallen asleep. I guess I was sitting here for a while.

My cat yawns. My dog just opens his eyes to look watch as I stand and attempt to wake my legs up.

It's quiet.

My mother had left for work an hour ago. I know this, for I reached for my phone that had been left lying on my dusty desk and used that to actually tell the time. The unrealistic clock that continued to tick and tock was no help to me. All it did was give me a reason to just stop.

It is seven thirty at night. The sun is barely setting now, leaving the sky a mess of pink, purple, blue and peach. There was more grey and blue now that the rain had arrived, but it was easing up.

I sighed, drinking up the depressing state of my room. It was a simple room, with a simple bed, simple desk with a simple computer chair and a simple rug lying underneath it. Actually, nothing was simple about my room at all, for I splashed so many differencts all over it with whatever I decided to put in it. It was like a rainbow came in and just decided to puke bright colors only in certain places. I don't have a TV because I honestly don't enjoy shows anymore. They're all the same, with all the same crap plots and shit actors. No, some actors I like, but they're not enough to make me waste the remaining brain cells I have to watch them on a box filled with nothing but cold wires.