hell or flying | Chaelisa

Chapter 1

Trigger warning: mention of suicide, depression, possibly eating disorder, abuse

Waking up in the morning was always a struggle for me. I used to be quite the morning person if you considered nine in the morning, early morning. But it has become significantly harder to find the will to live and move even an inch in the past three years. It wasn't for the reasons one might think. It wasn't that the adult life was getting to me, that work has been exhausting and hectic. It was none of that; no, my problem had deeper roots.

But like every other person, I didn't have a choice - not if I wanted much more unpleasant consequences to follow it. Waking up and getting out of bed was just one of the things each of us had to endure, no matter what we were waking up to, who we were waking up to. No matter if your job was hard or if you just had a bad day ahead of you. You had to suck it up and plaster a fake smile on your lips, and hope you would get through the day without going insane.

As for me, I was no longer worried about my sanity. It's not like it belonged to me anymore. I've lost a lot of things on the way, sacrificed things I wished I didn't have to. And this is where life spit me out at. After years of trying and hoping for the best, this was the life I made for myself. It was my fault really, I couldn't blame it on anyone. They were my decisions that brought me here, but it didn't make it any easier. It was still the hardest thing I had to do. To take in that one breath upon rousing. To find my will to live.

I couldn't compare my life to anyone else's. Everyone struggled with their own demons, walking back and forth in their mind. Everyone dealt with their own shit, but the knowledge of not being the only one in the world who struggled made nothing easier. It's like when people said, "don't be sad because some people have it worse". Just because there were people who struggled more didn't mean my struggles weren't valid. That I couldn't hurt.

It seemed that this way of thinking wasn't one that many people share. If it were, I wouldn't have to put on a mask every morning. And I didn't mean makeup to cover up the purple bags I wore under my eyes, weighing me down. Nor did I mean blush on my hollow cheeks because I couldn't find an appetite more times than I could.

No, I meant the mask where a sweet smile was permanently painted. The one where my eyes didn't look dull with lack of life. The one I showed to the cameras that flashed too close to my face for my liking. The one I showed on television when they asked about just how great my life has been. It was the one that rested in the drawer of my nightstand. The one I reached for first thing in the morning. Because I knew no one could see what I truly felt. Not because I hid it so well, but because showing my true emotions was too high of a risk. And it was not one I was willing to take.

I often wished there was someone I could talk to - someone who would see that there weren't specks of stolen sunlight in my eyes for years. But as much as I desired to have someone like that, I knew that even if I did, they could never find out. Not when this show I put on was to be convincing.

"Put a smile on, be strong" were the words I told myself when I looked at myself in the mirror.

The woman staring at me through the reflection wasn't one I recognized, though. She was an entirely different person - one that I wished not to meet. She was everything I despised. She lied, she pretended, she hurt, and she was weak. She wasn't her own person, and if I didn't hate her as much as I did, I would pity her. Because seeing someone in such a state wasn't something to be celebrated. To see someone not have control of their life, where no choices were theirs.

I wanted to laugh in her face for being so pathetic, for giving up her life for the sake of someone who didn't live anymore. For giving it into the hands of a control freak, power-driven, monster. I wanted to mock her for being so damn willing, and doing what she was told, to the dot.