The Problem is Me [EDITED)

Chapter 12

October, 2014

"You're only fifteen, what do you know?"

I'm not one to talk about things you should and shouldn't say to someone, but something about that sentence really hits a nerve with me. I don't understand how a person could have the audacity to say that to another. It really is beyond me. It applies to any age in theory, it could be a thirteen year old saying "You're only ten, what do you know?" to some other kid. The same rule applies regardless of whom and how old they are.

Have you ever met someone so irritating, so infuriating that you feel like dousing them in gasoline and lighting a match? There are some nasty people in this world, and you could argue that I am probably one of them. But everything I do is for a reason, a reason that most likely only makes sense to me. But nevertheless, it's still a reason. People like Gage Reilly are nasty for no reason. There is no motive behind it, they don't do it for self-gain or anything.

It's all for a laugh, because they find it fun. I can't fault that bit, because messing with someone is fun. Perhaps he only irritates me so much because he dares to stand up to me, not backing down at the slightest glare. I dislike people doubting me, but I don't want people to know what I'm fully capable of.

I think I need to backtrack slightly.

Earlier this morning (or afternoon) I was minding my own business, getting a head start on my walk to group, I had nothing better to do. I was walking pretty slow, scuffing my feet across the floor as I walked so I wasn't the first one in there when I got yanked into the girl's toilet. I turned around to see who'd pulled me in, and came face to face with Gage. I inwardly groaned and begged to the higher power to give me strength.

Now this little bastard starts ranting and raving about how I'm flirting with Esme and I need to back off because he's claimed her. I tried to calmly explain to him that I wasn't flirting with her at all, and that Esme and I are not even friends. He wouldn't listen, and he kept interrupting me. I could feel myself getting angrier, I started digging my nails into my palm, just enough to draw blood.

Whilst he was talking I was analyzing the things he said, and how he said them. Everything from his body language to the way he was dressed. It wasn't like he had terrible dress sense, I'll give him that. But his body language spoke weakness; it was evident that behind all of that male bravado there was an insecure little boy who was trying to get out.

One thing I have discovered is that everyone in this hospital is going through emotional turmoil, and they all continue to moan about it. If I were that caught up in my problems I'd probably down a bottle of pills or something like that.

Thing is though, we all know how to end all of this bullshit but we never do it. We all know what to do but no one seems to do it, not even me. The answer to all of our problems is death, but it's not necessarily the only one.

There have been a few instances where I have contemplated self-harm or suicide. Not because I was sad, but I was just so fucking bored. Of course I'd never actually kill myself, because life has too much to offer, but I did ponder the idea once or twice. Believe it or not, I have engaged in some self-destructive acts. We were doing a cooking module to help develop our skills or something, and it was so dull that I pressed my knuckles against the hot stove. It hurt quite a lot, and it wasn't worth the pain.

In this place, I am alone. And I'm perfectly content with that notion; I don't need other people to function. I often find my own company much better than any one else's.

I didn't know he planned to hit me until it was too late, and I saw his fist flying towards me. I felt it make smooth contact with my nose and I stumbled back into the wall. Looking down I saw the blood start to gush down my front, but before I turn back to him to throw a punch, he was already gone.