I love the 3AM version of people. vulnerable. honest. real
I left her at that place again, because I’m a coward…
I left her at that place which still makes me go still with fear that I felt years ago…
The 7 year old me is still trapped there, waiting for me to come…
I’m sorry, I’m really sorry that I can’t face you yet…
I’m sorry that you are still suffering… I’m sorry that I can’t open my arms wide and tell you to come run to me and I will catch you, that you won’t have to hurt anymore…
She told her first lie when she was 7 years old. It was difficult at first, hiding the truth. But with a few years of practice, she learned to lie effectively.
The thing about lying is once you tell a lie it begins to pile up. And then you wouldn’t even be able to recognize what the truth or lie is.
And finally, the lies became the truth.
She was the epitome of madness, laughing loudly without any care in the world. She had the most beautiful cat like eyes that only a few people have seen because she is always wearing her sun glasses and if you ask her why? She would say “ it gives me the summer looks” with her hair down wearing her favourite pair of ripped Jeans.
She always craved madness, like it was her second skin. Going out to places no one would dare to.
Have you ever felt lost, so lost that suddenly a voice or a feeling brings you back to reality and for a moment you don’t recognize where you are or who you are but then suddenly it all hits you, the pain, the suffering it all comes back and you are not so alone anymore but you wish you were.
You wish you were strong and not shaking so much, scared of what to do, scared of what’s coming, scared of everyone and everything….
You wish you were lost for a lifetime somewhere deep and dark.
I packed my bag today, with some clothes and some of the books that I owned, and then zipped the bag, ready to go wherever my legs would take me.
But then it hit me, where would I go? I don’t have any friends, whose couch I could sleep on, I don’t have any relatives that iam close to, who would take me in for a few days, I don’t have a job, I don’t have money, this was the moment I realized that I was so alone.
So I unzipped my bag, took all my clothes and hanged them in the closet and put my books in the shelf and I sat down on the edge of the bed and suddenly i was soo tired of this monotonous life and my eyes were filled with tears and I could feel the wetness on my cheeks.
I don’t even know why I am crying, I just looked out through the window, to the outside world, Wondering when will I be free, of these shackles that keeps me to this house.
Like some bonds, some relationship’s, scars fades too. When I’m looking at my wrists, the angry scar’s are not there anymore. The scar that was caused by a cat or a sharp object accidently, the truth is, it was no accident. I’m good at lying, even by looking in the eye, now that I think about it I never lied by keeping eye contact, I sucked at it, it always scared me, what if someone saw everything through my eyes?
It’s weird to wake up one day, and to see that the scars are gone, just like everything else in my life. The urge to make it come back was really strong, but I couldn’t give in, months of staying away from self-harming would go to waste then.
So I sat in a dark corner of my room, dark pools of hair covering my face and the flow of tears and i hugged my knees to my chest, and pressing hard on my wrist, where my scar’s used to be, closing my eyes trying to feel the pain, so that I would know iam alive and breathing.
Sometimes you try so hard not to sink, but it doesn’t matter, how much you try you keep sinking, like you can’t put your finger on what went wrong and everything’s just a mess.
You perfectly know that you can ask for help, you know that there are people who really do care about you and would help you through this sinking time and you want to ask for help but you can’t because you feel like a burden, and you don’t want to be a burden.
Sometimes you wish your phone could detect what you really want to do, because then you would have called or messaged your friends asking for help.
But then at that moment, you don’t know what happens, but you cannot seem to function, you cannot move your hands or do anything at all. You just stare at the ceiling and everything is blurry and you wonder what would be left of you after you surface again.
Sometimes alive doesn’t mean living, you could be dead inside and can still be alive.
Sometimes being alive gets Soo tiring, the only way you can see is dying in every way.
Sometimes people choose to die rather than to keep on living, some people call it easy way out or being coward.
I believe it’s being brave, brave enough to make a choice, brave enough to go through your choices.
Sometimes no amount of love or caring can replace the darkness inside you, they say make happy memories, what if the happy memories just hurt so much more?
Sometimes you just think about the people you love more, than yourself, when there is Soo much darkness inside of you, you do what’s good for them, you forget to think about you, because the only thing that matter at that time is the people you love, you do what’s good for them.
Sometimes you can’t help someone, they must be far gone by the time you decide to help and it’s not your fault.
Sometimes we push someone to get help, but it doesn’t work like that.
Sometimes a simple push, can make them delve into the darkness, till the person is disappeared.
She is fully clothed, but here she is still feeling naked, extremely naked on the bed. She wanted to scream and cry but she cannot, she cannot let anyone know.
His hands, she can still feel them roaming around her body, destroying her. She told him no, she told him to stop but he wouldn’t hear, no one heard her pleas to stop, not any one of them.
These flashbacks it keeps on killing her soul, which is now as black as it could be. She barely survived the reality of the abuse and now she is dying piece by piece, flesh by flesh.
And she knows no one cares, no one cares until it’s too late.
Looking at the mirror, all I can see is the shell of a person she used to be. The black slightly curled hair pooling around her face, hiding the pair of eyes that just shows how much dead she is inside. The tear streaked cheeks, so wet from a life time of tears. Those lips, which is so used to fake smiling.
Staring at the mirror I can’t help but pity her. The poor girl doesn’t even want to survive anymore. Her hands are bleeding from holding on to something that’s not even there.
She may have survived the Storm but she didn’t make it whole. The only thing left after the storm is the shell, just the shell of a dead girl.
Abhirose 