Is This Insanity?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 3 (v.1) - Attack

Submitted: February 26, 2013

Reads: 94

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Submitted: February 26, 2013



One day, in high school, I began to get angry with my guidance counselor. She spoke of my older siblings and how successful they are, and how I refused to apply myself. Her incessant ravings of my slowly declining GPA were not a pleasant conversation to have, and I wished for it to end as immediately as possible. Before this meeting, I had not slept for three entire days and I was running on barely any fuel. Hearing her nasally, high-pitched squeal, I was reminded of Michael and his nasally, high-pitched squeal. After I drew this cringe worthy comparison, I became agitated. I wanted to choke her, and cut off all oxygen to her lungs and make her turn blue. Luckily, I restrained myself, and I walked out of her office without saying a word. As I began the stroll back to my classroom, I let out a tired sigh and thought about all of the assignments I had due. For some reason, as I walked into the classroom, I began imagining something utterly preposterous. Was it seriously okay for me to not care about my studies and wallow in this unnecessary puddle of self-pity? Was it okay, just because I was depressed, to blame all of my troubles on the unsuspecting people around me? Perhaps the reason they had not taken notice was because I refused to speak with them. Perhaps they too are suffering similar problems, and I am the one who refuses to acknowledge that they are there. I became confused, and I grabbed hold of my hair and pulled frantically. I slumped down in front of the classroom door and tried to rip this wig off of my head. By wig, I mean of course my head full of hair. I figured that pulling my hair hard enough would result in the death of enough brain cells to make me forget about these delusions. No, I wasn’t the one at fault here! It was other people! They were making me suffer! How can they be suffering more than I was? My life is more painful than anybody’s! What a sight. This horribly dirty young man hunched over in front of the classroom door pulling his hair and crying. Yes, I cried. I cried an extraordinarily large amount of tears. A puddle formed around my feet, and I tried closing my eyes and shutting off the world. I was not at fault here! I was not!

It hurt too much, and I was incapable of controlling myself any longer. I let out a pained, piercing scream that shattered the glass windows of all the doors in the hallway. It must have, for soon, a plethora of students and teachers emerged to see what the commotion was. I was crying, and I fell over on my side and flailed around, kicking helplessly into the air. I continued to scream and convulse. Spit and snot and tears flew everywhere. Nobody dared go near me. They didn’t even know what was wrong with me. They just stood there in horror, unsure of what to do. I screamed even louder.

“Don’t look at me!” I cried aloud.

I began to hyperventilate and gasped for air, trying to find a way to get my heart to slow down. It was beating so fast I thought it might fly out of my chest and splatter against the ceiling. Perhaps then this pain would have subsided quickly. Alas, I was doomed to the embarrassing scene I describe here. Eventually, I stopped moving and fighting and kicking. I couldn’t keep it up for long, and I closed my eyes, begging for the flow of information to cease. Eventually, my brain complied, and I slept.

Loneliness. The ultimate struggle one faces on the meticulous, often cruel road of existence. Human beings lack a significant faculty, rendering our empathic abilities horrendously limited. We, as a collective group, are incapable of feeling the thoughts of another human being. We are unable to worm our way inside the minds of our peers, and we are doomed to never truly reaching an understanding amongst ourselves. Loneliness is the ultimate factor in all of this. Human beings are, by default, selfish, narcissistic parasites who absorb the misery and abuse the willingness of others in order to further our own longings and desires. We give not a damn about the effects our actions have on the people around us, and even if we pretend to care, in actuality, we are merely concerned with our own public image. Yes, humanity is indeed a pitiful species. We have accomplished so much as a civilization. Great men created the atom bomb and ended the Second World War. A genius adopted the now commonly known theory of relativity. Literary masterpieces, such as Dante’s Divine Comedy have inspired eons of artistic praise and fortune. Despite all of our successes though, we have failed to address the real issue that looms, forebodingly above our heads, hanging as a victim of execution does from the gallows. Truly, we must focus on loneliness. If you are walking down the street one afternoon, and perchance decide to throw a rock blindly, fate has it that you’ll hit someone who feels or has felt depressed, suicidal, anxious and alone. We can feel the tension in the atmosphere amongst the lonely souls, deprived of love and robbed of affection, and yet we do nothing to reach out to them. If you find a friend of yours limping his head down low, quietly and soundlessly sobbing for whatever reason, do you stop to help him? Do you embrace him and assure him that there is somebody, anybody in the world who honestly wishes to make his concern theirs? Humans are petty and selfish. Many a time have I felt cold and helpless, refusing human contact despite longing for it so. People are truly frightening things. I fear growing close to strangers, or growing closer to friends I am already close to. I yearn for physical interaction but make no effort to actively seek it out, for I fear immediate rejection. I know that my disgusting, worthless appearance and cynical attitude are unwarranted and unattractive. No female or male wishes to hold a pathetic wretch like myself. I can’t blame them. If I were to see me, I would ostracize myself as much as possible. As I try to do. I try to keep my distance, but it grows harder with each passing day to remain isolated, and I slowly forget how to use my voice. A deep object is lodged within my throat, rendering me incapable of speech. Not that it matters anyway. Nobody wants to hear anything that I have to say.

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