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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short Fictional Memoir Story from the perspective of Elektra (Ability) from Year 10.

Submitted: September 17, 2012

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Submitted: September 17, 2012




I’m lost and I want to forget, I just want to forget, I want to start over.  I don’t know what it is I want to start over, because I’ve gotten so good at this that I can just block it out of my mind and not think about what I’m running from.  I can just run and run and run from it and keep focusing on running because if I focus on what’s chasing me, I succumb to the fear and let it consume me.

I’m falling like they’ve pulled the rug out from under me.  No, I’ve had that before, and I’ve always landed on the ground and stood back up.  So I’m falling like the world decided to open up a large hole in the earth and shouted, “JUMP!” as I fell so quickly I couldn’t say goodbye.  And the only thing I want to do is to go back to the good times, the times when I laughed and I smiled and I didn’t have to worry about tomorrow or yesterday, but I can’t even remember those times.  I can’t get out of the web I’ve been caught into, and I’ve been in it for so long that it’s the only thing I know and it’s the only thing I love.

I’ve found the good in the worst, because good is a relative term, and compared to the well I’ve been locked into, some times are very good. Some times consist of people not dying, and people not leaving, and me not bleeding, and my brain not exploding; some times consist of me not wanting to cry, and smiling for real- but those times are dreams, and fantasies, and nothing more, because the second I wake up, I need to face reality and plaster that same old goddamn mask on my face.

And I’m sick of it; I’m just so sick of it, you know? I’m so sick of answering “I’m fine,” whenever someone asks me how I’m doing, because if they really cared, they could see right through my fucking eyes and realize that I’m breaking inside.  But no.  Hell, no.  No one cares.  And I feel like an underappreciating bitch for expecting them to care, because it’s not their problem.  But I still do. 

I am so sick of the fake smile; I’m sick of myself.  I just want to look in the mirror and throw a hammer at it.  I want to sit in a corner and cry, and this time, I want someone to tell me that it’s going to be okay.  That I’m not alone.  That I’m normal, and that there’s still hope for me.  I want someone to tell me that I’m beautiful, that I’m kind, that I make them happy.  I understand that I can’t get what I want; I know that it’s impossible.  But I feel like I’m fading away.  I know that I’m fading away.  I want to save myself, but is it worth it? If no one else takes the time to invest in me and my existence, why should I?

What is the point?

Can’t anyone just, please, take the time to notice something that I don’t point out on my own? Can someone please just look at me and say, “What’s wrong?” and not believe the sorry excuse for a “Nothing” that I respond with?

Can’t anybody hear me?

And not just hear me, but listen? Even if they don’t understand; someone who accepts me after hearing all the shit that is tearing me down has to be out there.  Or are they? 

Some days, I just feel like life is a lie.  The expectations and the dealings and the running. 

My life is a lie.

And yet, no one seems to notice.  No one seems to care.

I’m lost and I want to forget, I just want to forget, I want to start over.


I’m sorry.

I’m so, so sorry.

© Copyright 2018 Kathryn Thorne. All rights reserved.

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