The Monsters that Live in My Head

Confidence. Confidence is being able to put people in their place with one look, it's being able to sashay down a hall and not care who's watching, it's being able to stun anyone speechless with just a smile. And that's what I did. If only to hide the miserable failure I am. Shouldering through a crowd of Yr 7's all gathered like a flock discussing who knows what, I ran straight into a childhood friend.
"Well, good morning to you too," William laughed, gripping my elbow to steady me. Breaking into a smile like it was my second nature, I slipped into the role I've played everyday thousands upon thousands of times. "Long time no see, how's your holiday been?" smiling generically, like I haven't met him every single day of my existence, I asked in politeness rather than interest. I continued to nod and add the occasional "ah", listening to his words but not hearing them. "Blythe," waving a hand in front of my eyes, startling me from my thoughts, "I know my face is daydream worthy but I'd much rather appreciate you engaging in an intellectual conversation with me rather than gawking at my handsome self." Containing the urge to scoff, I laughed and friendly slapped his arm, "The day I gawk at your face will be the day pigs sprout wings and fly." Flinching from either the remark or the slap he replied, "How crude, can't you just admit you feel attracted to me?"
"Why don't you admit it to yourself, you narcissist," scoffed a close friend of mine, attacking William from behind with her bag. "You barbarian! Violence is never the answer, Amber," he cried jumping out of her hitting range. Shaking my head, I headed for our lockers dreading another day in the hellhole that was school.

Sighing, I watched the clock move tantalisingly slow as I counted the minutes until we were freed. William sensing my urge to escape the damned room murmured, "Are you feeling ok?" I nodded in response but 'I'm fine' has always been a lie on my terms and always will be. As the teacher handed me a slip of paper with our upcoming assignments and exams, the usual haze at the back of my mind, the background noise, the prickle in the centre of my chest begins to become more defined, the fog becomes denser. "An A student such as yourself shouldn't have to worry you'll be just fine my dear," the teacher smiled, but all I could hear were my parents "constructive criticism" of never trying; never being enough, for not getting off my lazy butt; for not being productive. I balled my fists and leaned over the desk, my heart palpitating, my breath coming out in harsh, irregular intervals. All I heard was a wall of accusations: "Why can't you be like ____? She's so much smarter than you." "You're so stupid!" "You worthless child, I regret ever giving brith to you." "You take so much space, but never give back." Each remark was spat out with such bitterness and spite, as if hate itself grew from the very words. I wasn't enough, I was never enough and never would be. Trembling uncontrollably, my head hammering painfully to the extent that it seemed to flow throughout my entire being, I felt like a complete and utter failure. I could feel my throat constricting, my head became so light and tingly, my heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. "Oh God," I thought, "Not this again. Calm the hell down Blythe! I can't, oh my gosh, I can't calm down," grasping hold of the desk, anything to keep me from shattering into a million tiny pieces. Noticing my sudden anxiety attack, William excused us both from the classroom and with alarm escorted me out of the room with the worried eyes of that teacher and curious faces of fellow peers following.

Outside in the blessedly cool courtyard, away from the prying eyes of the class I slumped against William giving up any attempt to walk any further. "Blythe, Blythe, stay with me we're nearly at the benches," William gently wrapped an arm around my waist, propping me upright again. Shaking my head, too exhausted to move the nausea overcoming me like a wave, my forehead damp from cold sweat. Understanding, he gently sets me down against the wall away from the classroom windows which seemed to look down me like ghastly eyes as if disapproving of my weakness and lack of control over my own body.
"How are you feeling?" sitting himself down next to me, his bronze bed hair that came off as stylish, glinting in the sunlight. I watched with new eyes as he turned to face me with a crooked smile, his piercing sky-blue eyes seemed to look through every lie I've ever uttered. Struggling in between the option of lying once again or for the first one in my life, spilling the burden that seemed to gain more weight everyday. "Blythe? Don't lie to me, don't you think that your friend of 16 years, since the day we were in diapers, wouldn't be able to see the sadness that grows like a virus in your eyes? Or the way your cheeks have began to cave in like deep valleys, the way you stare at food with such hunger yet you dare not touch it. How could I not notice that every 'I'm fine' uttered from your lips were just another cry for 'save me'. I can see it all, but why aren't you letting me through that fortress to help you out of your own prison?" his gaze searching my own eyes for a reaction, his eyebrows furrowing for every hesitant second that passed. Picturing the precious wall I had enforced around my heart with back-breaking effort, I could physically feel it begin to disintegrate as if the very foundations were only made of ashes. All it had taken were a few words to bring down years of self defence alarms; a look from that intense gaze, of eyes that reminded of the ocean, to engulf me like a tsunami. Laughing crudely, I turned away and focused my attention on my hands, anywhere but his face, "There's little to tell you if you believe you see it all." Gripping my chin lightly and turning my head to face his again, "I've played along with your act for long enough. I refuse to watch you die like this."
Jerking my head away I protested, "Who said-." Grabbing my wrist and holding it up for me to see the scars that mark my secret I had held so close until now.
"What do you call this then?" He growled, letting my arm fall. Dropping my gaze in shame and guilt I remained silent. "I suppose you assume we don't care about you at all. Amber has been watching you fall without any way to help you, do you enjoy torturing us by punishing your body?"
"Fine," I muttered bitterly, "I'll tell you, I'll tell you of how everyday I wake up and the greatest challenge is to get out of bed and face another day of school because it means it's another day of pretending to be someone I'm not. The Blythe you see, is meant to be happy, carefree, content with her life; she's meant to be the diamond among gems, she's meant to be the girl who received academic awards and is acknowledged for her talents; she's meant to be admired and envied by others. The Blythe you know will buy you lunch if you forget it; she'll gladly socialise with complete strangers with no problems what so ever, she's the girl that friends are proud to have by their sides; she's everything I should be, what I want to be and could have been. Despite that, the Blythe you see and know is not me. Everyday, I stare at my reflection and wish to disfigure all my features in hope to start again. I hate myself, I hate the way my body feels and looks like only skin and bone as if I'm just a living corpse. I hate the fact that every single flaw that my parents point out is completely true from my stupidity to my bleak future, how I am completely worthless and someone who takes too much space on this planet. I hide behind this facade every single day and each day I feel more isolated than the last; no one knows how close I am to losing it when I'm left alone with my morbid thoughts. Each night I'm attacked by my own demons, pointing out each and every flaw, feeding off my confidence until all I have is only just barely enough to struggle through the next day. Every single night I'll attack myself with frustration and anger, asking myself why the world was so cruel as to let me to continue to live in my own personal hell. Each cut, probed by fingers of hopelessness, the blood and pain relief from the failure and isolation that plagued my mind," with teary eyes I spilt my most confined and inner thoughts and emotions. Gasping in realisation of my mental breakdown, turning to see William's reaction with a hand covering my mouth. His face was blank, completely devoid of emotion, his eyes misty focused on everything yet nothing simultaneously. Imagining all the rejective and spiteful comments that were to follow any moment now, I decided to leave before I found out myself what they were. Pushing myself off the wall in an unsteady motion, "I understand if you never want to set eyes on me again, nor acknowledge my existence. I'm sorry for burdening you in such a way, for ruining the friendship between us," with that, I ran, I ran for the life of me. I ran from the god damn school, from the mask that I had so delicately placed over the emotional wreck I was, from the 16 years worth of lies. I ran until my legs brought me to the house that I once called home but was now only an empty space where I was treated like an unwanted guest. Unlocking the door, I stepped into a blackness that no light could ever be able to rid, into a cold that seeped past bones and settled in your chest.

Gripping the shaving razor in my hand, slumped against the bath tub on the chilling tiles I gazed at the numerous cuts across my arm, watching the blood collect in a puddle. I raised the razor for the final and last blow to end all. All this time, I had never valued my body, everything about it I despised. I grew to hate it all, why I was never beautiful enough to please my parents who loved perfection, the symmetry of features that humans had grown to love - I had it all yet it was never enough. My awards were numerous both for academics and sports, yet apparently I was still lacking. Feeling tear drops fall into the wounds, I wondered if anyone would even look for me. My parents who had long ago stopped caring of my whereabouts or health, neglecting my entire existence, wouldn't even notice the difference. Now, strangely empty of emotion, the frustration, anger and grief slipped away into numbness that, for once felt calming. Closing my eyes I whispered a final goodbye, "To the parents who never loved me but were my everything; to William and Amber who I realise now were my anchors, good bye. Thank you, my friends who gave me at least some meaning to my dying soul and my already dead life. Today I burdened you with a load that I will now take away, goodbye and take care." Applying pressure against my skin, I felt the exhilaration of the action before the sweet pain took control and flooded all my thoughts. Feeling unconsciousness grip me and slowly losing sensation of this world, a cold and rather firm hand slapped me back into reality. "Who gave you any permission to disappear from my life, you idiot," a familiar voice growled flinging away the razor and gripped my shoulders. Shaking me vigorously, he yelled, "Don't you dare leave me now, I will choose myself who I want by my side." Opening my eyes slowly, groggily muttering, "My eardrums will burst if you scream any louder." He gave a shuddering sigh and sagged his shoulders in relief, resting his forehead against mine, "Don't you dare make me do this again. You're never alone, do you hear me? You're not alone."