The perfect life that's all I want. That's what my dreams gave me
sometimes. I'll sit there dreaming up new "prefect" scenarios;
but when I wake up things usually go wrong. Nothing is ever as
good as a dream.
Rain, it is always the worst when you wake up to a torrent in a
bad mood. Today was no different from any other day over the
break. I refused to leave my warm shielding cocoon. Lumpy and
dirty as my mattress on the floor was, it was better then the
alternative. Better then facing another day, with the same
insurmountable issues as days prior. It must have been three or
four hours, stewing in my own thoughts of hatred and sadness.
Worst of all my "friends" were trying to get a hold of me. I
never complained to anybody about my real problems, most people
don't want to hear them. They have their own petty problems, as
teenagers it was always one problem after the next and they all
thought I wanted to hear them. I ask them about it hoping that
one day one of them will return the favor. Ask me what was wrong
for a change, but they never did. Selfish.
A while of sitting there mixed with consistent hails for me to
check had finally taken its toll. Maybe a change of atmosphere
would change my mood. As I scanned the room I could see its
dreadful state. Dirty laundry, trash, and random spills that had
been overlooked due to a lack of will power or an apathy that
couldn't be overcome.
The sheer volume of stuff on the floor was nothing to sniff at. I
cumbersomely started to work. I labored for an hour or so, making
sure every section of my room was clean before moving on to the
next. I was almost done when I saw something almost amusing. Two
months before I had broken a light bulb. There were still shards
of it laying on the floor, twinkling in the light that struck
them. I began to pick them up. The glass clinked as it hit the
bottom of the trash can. I felt worse and worse as I cleaned and
by this point I was hollow. It was as if my heart had shut down
and there was no blood running through my veins. I've had the
feeling before. It was a numbing, an emptiness that consumed the
soul, slowly eating away at your insides.
I felt nothing. I picked up the next shard of glass, this one
much larger then the last. I wonder, would it hurt if I cut
myself? I slid it heavily against my skin without a second
thought. Over my wrist. Nothing, I felt nothing. Twice more I
slid the piece of glass and twice more the same thing happened.
Anything, anything I wanted to feel anything but the numbness i
wanted it to end. That shard of glass did nothing to relieve my
suffering it could not harm one dead inside. I watched as the
blood slivered down my arm. Not the crimson of blood I was
promised, but a darker, warmer color. Something more inviting,
but after all I still felt nothing. Every action was senseless.
In a state of despair I lie myself back down. In the end it
doesn't really matter.
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