A Bit Of Me

Masks

Pain filled my world like an overflowing cup of water. It was the deepest pain I have ever felt in my lifetime- like it was cutting me open. Then, when everything seemed better, it would cut deeper just so it would tear me down. Almost like salt in a wound. The blood wasn’t the usual color. It was clear, so no one could see what I was going through.

My best friend thought I had the perfect life. I wish I could’ve said she was right, but she is only right when I avoid home. I would hide out at school all day and fill up my day with after school curriculars, just so I wouldn't experience any more pain. When I would return to my malicious home, I was welcomed with screaming all throughout the house. I would try to sneak through the kitchen as quiet as a mouse, but my parents wouldn’t notice even if I made the loudest rukus ever. They couldn’t hear me over their screams. They were too hot-headed to realize they even had a daughter. I guess I just hid my pain from the world with a mask.

Darkness was right around the corner from pain. I was scared- terrified of the dark. Maybe because all of the fighting took place in the dark rooms of my house, or because dark explains my home life most would say, if they knew. I wish I could escape it. But I can't, because even when I close my eyes, it is still as dark as obsidian.

I am failing math, and I guess science, and social studies for that matter too. When my teachers ask why I am failing, I have to lie and make up some overused explanation like: “I never got it the materia” or “my dog ate my homework”, yet, I don't even have a dog. I try- I do act like everything's okay just so the teachers will leave me alone.

I tried out for the school play. Surprisingly enough, I made it. It was a tragic play. All I know is I get to cry in it. At least this will be a gate open so I can let all of my emotions out and not keep them hidden. I couldn’t hide any more, my insides were going to burst with how many tears I kept in. Everytime I “cry” on stage for a stage act, the director asks me how I make it so- so real. I just smile and say “practice makes perfect, right?” Again, another mask that I have put on. I now have too many masks to count.

It was the night for the opening play. I told my parents- my awful, awful parents, that it was tonight. I guess they just thought it wasn’t important because they just shouted over it like a lion over a lamb. I could have screamed at them, but it would do no good considering I have a voice quiet as a mouse.

Tonight, I released all of my emotions. Everything I have held in for the past years. Again, the director pulled me aside and asked how I did it. He said it looked so real- so real that I have a red, blotchy face.

I came home to a violent household. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I walked through the familiar oak wood door frame I have walked through since I was a toddler. I saw my father holding up the woman I thought he loved, even after all the fighting, up against the scratched wall of the kitchen by her throat.