The Problem is Me [EDITED)

Chapter 9

October, 2014

I don't expect that anyone has actually noticed but I haven't really been lighting the social world on fire as of late. In fact, it seems as if my worlds have all gone cold; Into some sort of deep space hyper sleep, a hibernation of my mental faculties if you want me to get all technical. It'd be different if I could tell you that I don't have time to speak to anyone but that isn't the case.

I'm in a fucking nut house! I have all of the time in the world!

The problem is that I'm not really in the mood for pretending anymore. I've fallen into a mental trap of lethargic living via insurmountable apathy. It's just a thing that happens to me sometimes.

I stop dreaming. I stop caring. I stop believing. I stop creating. I stop trying.

But believe me when I say it's not me it's them. It's all of them. They poison the world with their own sickness. It consumes everything around it. It drags us into the sewers where we battle like rats over the biggest pile of garbage.

It's like I am standing in the middle of a room on fire shouting at the top of my lungs while all those around me turn a deaf ear and burn alive. You can only scream for so long before the flames reach you.

The first man to notice the ship is sinking dies at sea with all the rest.

So if we're in this until the end someone needs to throw me a fucking life preserver and get some blankets ready.

A life preserver would be a nice thing to have right now, seeing as my mother has finally decided to acknowledge my existence, properly this time, for the first time in however many god forsaken years. Really, you are as surprised as I am.

This has really thrown a spanner in the works.

I'm not overly pissed that she left me to rot for the best part of four years, I'm kind of glad that the trash took itself out. Although, I'm kind of annoyed she has decided to show her face again. What could she possibly have the audacity to say after all this?

In all fairness, I'm more angry at her not because she left but because she didn't take me with her. I'm fucking annoyed not that she broke my heart into a trillion little shards, but because I didn't see it coming at all. I am angry at her because I cannot forget her no matter how hard I try. I'm also angry at her for coming back when I have been trying so hard to leave and forget all about that mess of a person. But beyond everything else, I'm angry at her for being the broken down house that still feels like home even after so many years of being alone.

The worst part of everything has to be being taken down the corridors of patients, eyeing you wearily because they know you're not in here for something like self-harm, or depression. They're the type of people that have been fucked over so many times by people like you, just by one look they know that your problems are fucking real, and they don't even try to make eye contact because they damn well know it would give them chills for the remainder of the night.

I had the nurse whispering reassuring words in my ear the whole journey, things like "It will be okay." And "If it gets too much, you can just leave." All that pointless bull that no one really believes, but people still think it's worth saying.

With one final pat on the back from the nurse, I opened the door with a creak and took my first look into the comfortable enough looking room. The room wasn't half bad, it had a table with two cushioned chairs and a few potted plants around the room.

But the beauty of the room was interrupted when I caught sight of the woman sat at one of the chairs. Her hair was shorter than I remembered and messier too, although it still held the brown colour like mine. She had dark bags that resembled bruises under her eyes and her clothes were ruffled. The most surprising part was that next to her was a little boy covering his mouth and nose with his backpack. I couldn't make out much of him as he wasn't looking at me, but I could vaguely see the print of a superman t-shirt hidden under an unbuttoned black and white shirt.