The First

And this is where it all began...insomniac depression and late night ranting....

 

Dear Whoever May Get This First,

 

Are you the kind of person who dwells on events for ages, no matter how minute they are? Like maybe you spelled schizophrenic wrong in your freshman year in high school, or you wished you were dead in front of the wrong person. Maybe you left your diary out on accident and your sister decided it was a nice way to make five dollars from her father...and now he knows everything about your private life for the past year. How do you deal with that? Say you don’t. Do you think that those little events build up inside you, even after you’ve forgotten they ever happened, and eventually overwhelm you completely? Could it drive you to the brink of existence or is that something you let happen?

 

Does any of what I’m saying make any sense to you at all? Maybe I’m portraying myself as a deranged mentally ill psychopathic freak, but, honestly, I’m sane. Not perfectly sane, true, but about as sane as anyone in the world can be today.

 

I am afraid to open my eyes every time I wake up. Who knows what I’ll find upon the switching on of my bedroom light? Maybe a masked man waiting to capture me for his own twisted game inside the one I’m already playing. Or just a measly black widow that’s holding my life an inch away. Does it matter? Until I open my eyes, I’m safe in a dream world where nothing can touch me as long as my eyes stay closed tight.

 

None of that’s true…those are just excuses. I’m afraid because that’s what I’ve learned to be. I’ve learned that reality is cruel. It strikes hard and fast and makes sure that the hurt runs far below the surface where it’ll scar and that mark will make you always remember the power that it holds over you. I’m afraid of it piercing me again. So I close my eyes and live in my dreams. I hold fast to them because they don’t make me weep inside or out.

 

Is it so wrong to be afraid? Fear is all I know…in some ways it’s almost a comfort. The familiarity itself is like a blanket from the world. Scary, isn’t it? Children who live in fear, I mean. Fear of the world, and of the shadow they hide in. What but their dreams are left for them? Even the nightmares…

 

Do you ever wonder what your purpose is? Is there a god? Goddess? Something out there? I did…I don’t really think about religion much anymore…it suddenly doesn’t seem important to getting through the day. No amount of prayer and belief is going to rescue me from myself. Why? Maybe I don’t want to be saved from myself…maybe I can’t be yet…maybe It’s not myself I need saving from. But, what then? There are no outsiders in my world, nothing to threaten me inside my walls. What could I possibly need saving from?

 

Is it only me who wakes up everyday and pushes away the odd feeling that I don’t know who I am? Isn’t it only the teenage identity crisis? Not important…no…not important. I know who I am. I am Shea. I am sixteen. I am a scared little girl who would still be hiding behind daddy if he were around to hide behind. No…I can’t…There’s too much depending on my strength. I am self conscious. I am still searching for answers. I am Shea.

 

Okay…so I don’t know who I am right now. I keep thinking I do…but I really don’t. It scares me. I need someone there to help me…and no one is…they just can’t see my pain. Can you? I don’t mean to let it out and take it out on everyone else…but sometimes…the monster in me gets away…and I can’t stop it. I feel like a monster all the time. I hate the way I treat every body …. I don’t know what to do anymore…what to turn to…it’s like I’ve been down every road there is to go…and I still can’t find an answer…There isn’t one…I don’t know…

 

Can you imagine what goes on in my head when I’m close to breaking? I can see myself losing control. It doesn’t matter where I am…It breaks my heart to know that one little touch can send me spiraling into a frenzy. Every second is a war. ‘Breathe. Balance. Step. Breathe. Open you eyes. Breathe. Smile. Take another step; you’re almost there.’ How easy is it to give up? Throw it all away? Scream when I want to? Break the windows? Cry until I can’t anymore? Lie in the floor all day watching the shadows dance around me? That sounds like paradise…that is my reality inside my head. But it can never be real. Never. I have an image to uphold…but I’m not holding up to well right now. That’s not right…that’s not in the image…I can’t keep it together long enough to brace myself for the next war…

 

How do I live with myself? Do I really live with myself? Or do I just pretend to? To the naked eye…I am happy. I am a wonderful, fun-loving, ball of sunny joy that has been tamed. It’s a lie. Don’t believe it. Don’t let yourself believe it no matter how convincing I am. Don’t let me lie to you like I am lying to myself, because, then, I’m not hurting only myself, I’m hurting you, too. I’d do anything to keep from hurting you. I’d do anything to take your pain away from you, make it better, and give you happiness like you’ve never had. Tempting? I hope it is…I hope you’re really debating it in your head. At least I’d be good for more than moping around all the time.

 

Is this a curse? Some kind of joke? Who tells a perfectly good person that they aren’t living? I am living! I am alive! And, yes, I am watching as other people live…but aren’t we all? What’s wrong with the sidelines if you suck at life?

….Okay…maybe I am sheltering myself. Maybe I am living behind a window. I can see life…I want it…I want to be alive …but I can’t because THERE’S A STUPID GLASS BARRIER BETWEEN ME AND IT!!! I can’t break it down, no matter how hard I pound on it and scream at the others on the other side. They can’t hear me…I’m not even sure they can see me. Can they? Can you?

 

My existence, as I know it, is dying. They don’t know it…but I do. I guess you do, too, now. What’s it like to lose a life? Do you know? I do…My granny, she died. I lost her. I was close to her. Sad. She was a really great person…I wish she were here now…maybe she’d be able to help me…Tell me what to do…Maybe she’d hate me now…see through my mask and know what kind of monster I’ve truly become. Maybe she’d tell me how sick she is of me now…tell me everything that they’ve been too nice to day. But…she said she’d always love me…Will she still?

 

That is exactly what they are talking about. ‘…not crediting myself for the wonderful person I’ve become…’ Where is the wonderful person in this? What kind of wonderful person thinks this way? Do they all? Do you? Wonderful people must think about flowers and rainbows and how they can help the old lady next door. I don’t. I’m not a wonderful person. I’m terrible. I’ve always been terrible.

 

Do you think so too? …Of course not. This is the part where, in your head, you say, ‘Well, you made me smile. That’s got to count for something. And you somehow manage to put up with that brat sister every day of your life. And, well, I love you and I don’t love terrible people, so that makes you not a terrible person, just normal, just human.’ Well, I haven’t done all wrong…I know that…but I don’t always make everything right.

 

Maybe I’m going overboard with all of this…just overreacting to the thoughts in my head…Do you think so? Well…at least I’m not trying to shoot the thoughts…Imagine how that would end…no…don’t…we don’t want a dead Shea. Maybe…I just need to let go and get on with life…maybe that’s the answer I’ve been trying to find all along…but how many times have I told myself and still wander close to the edge? Not right…

 

I can’t just roll over and forget…I can’t let go…I don’t know what to do with all this that I’m feeling. How do I let go? How do I become unconfused? How do I focus all my energy into ‘getting better?’ Or at least improving…

 

I wonder…just think…how many teen girl write these same words every night hoping the have some meaning in the world? Just teenage girls. Okay…now add the teenage guys who feel this way but will never admit to it because it’s too girly…and, for the finale: *drum roll, please* add on all the others- the adults who don’t have time to ‘let it out,’ the children that don’t know how…well, lets just say everyone. Who am I to put a new address on the same old loneliness?

 

Does a word I’m saying have meaning any more? Is it just teenage angst ramblings to you? It should be - compared to that massive number I just had you come up with, I am nothing. You shouldn’t even be listening [[reading]] anymore. This is a wasted four pages…and a waste of your time. I’m sorry.

 

I guess I’m sorry for this, for everything…but, I suppose I’m sorriest for falling apart when I needed to be strong the most. I felt like that all the time…and that’s when I realized that I’m not strong…I never really have been. I’m sorry for that too.

 

                        _-Shea

Reviews

[Philosophile. (Maddy)]

I do dwell on events for ages, and I also relate to what you've expressed in this. This was deep and heartfelt. This represents your own strength- the strength to bare your soul, no matter the consequences. I enjoyed how you actively include the reader in this.