**TRIGGER WARNING**
When I always get in a fight or argue with my parents, I always get sent to my room after some beatings. I always wonder if the eternal sufferings I receive are always endless. The only audience who was there for me was the stars and the moon because they care for me. Whenever I wake up in the middle of the night because of a bad dream or my parent’s sudden attacks or study really late, there is a luminous light glowing in my direction.
They know what is going on, they know when I’m in a flood of tears, they know that I’m sad and depressed. They know that they love me because they kiss me with their light. I want to be like them, undying and full of an unquenchable ball of fire. I want to jump off the window and fly towards them and be safe and protected by them. That’s the feeling of floating when my mother hit my head with a metal pot, which I blacked out and saw myself falling into the realms of unconsciousness, seeing a big rectangular screen in front of me as I floated away deep, deep down. Trapped in a dream within a dream. I wonder why this happens to me.
Deep down into the unknown. Deep down into the darkness. Deep down into the universe of nothingness.
I see the sea of charred hands towards me, pulling me down onto something sharp. Surrounding me, many menacing eyes stare down deep down into me at my soul as they tie me down with some rope. However, I’m there too, with the others - you’re not alone. It’s completely black, which you can’t see people but you are relieved that you aren’t the only one. People screaming, moaning uncomfortably, crying, and wailing of discomfort and helplessness - I want to also help them, but it’s satisfying to see them suffer, and I smell their sweet misery and depression in ecstasy. Trying to float again, but I can’t - I’m completely chained to the ground by my painful memories of guilt, hardships, jealousy, abuse, anxiety and hopelessness. What’s even worse is that I’m lying on shards of glass that reflects the broken pieces of my identity. Something sweet and sickly triggers my nose, which the glass cuts deeply into my arms and legs, leaving a warm thin trail of crimson blood against my clothes. In silence, the pain was mild, but I never felt that intense level of suffering as I tolerated myself by biting my lips from screaming, tasting salty blood. The glass is my punishment because it symbolizes all the heinous crimes that I committed to myself and the others around me who truly cared, but I abandoned them. I let myself go. Cutting a part of me that was so ingrained into my feelings and heart that was difficult to pry my hands away from. Then into tearing big chunks of what I was to my true self; the naked eye into nothing; I was bloody and useless, crying for no reason. This is the reason why these internal chains were created. Whenever I attempt to break free, I hate myself more and more - I deserve to be hidden in the depths, unseen. In front of me, there was a sense of the ominous blackness that was creeping slowly towards me. Without the warmth of the sun, there is no heat, but it’s not exactly cold - it's the lack of the light given off, and the fears of misery that surround this place.
The only thing I can hear is my own beating of my heart, my own condensed breathing, and the sweat droplets that run off my forehead. Everyone doesn't need me, but I do, I don’t know how to express myself, I am hopeless, I am numb, I need people more than ever. I have seen this darkness before, many times - its scent was familiar and kissed my cold mouth into my own wretched soul, spreading its invisible poison. I wonder what kind of harm it would do it me. It seeps into my veins, turning to hardened black tar that almost stops the beating of my living heart. At this point, you may be wondering and pondering real loud like a Socratic thinker, “Why those who are lowly and depressed and the suffering one whose life have hit them most?” I also think that it is fair, but it’s quite the reality in which life doesn't give us lemons. I regret my life decision choices.
Regret, it’s just more than guilt; it fills me up quite instantly leaving me nothing but hollows of sadness.
Regrets are the scarred names that are imprinted physically on my weak heart and the eyes that follow me to the places wherever I go.
Regrets are whispering screams that fill my head, their hands clawing and scratching my face, leaving a bloody mess. They are the people who come and go in my life, leaving no desire for meaning, playing with my feelings, stomping on my lungs, unable to breathe.
I dare to leave my tears behind me, smiling falsely for a new appearance. Everyone needs to be punished in some type of way. If someone is sad for some reason, then we would cause anything horrendous to happen to ourselves and to anyone just to get over that fact that you’re sad. Here, if people are looking for a way to escape, please don’t bother.
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