My Big Toe

I didn't ask to grow up this way. 

If I had it my way, I would live in a tall castle. My castle would be made of sterling silver, with two vigilant guards standing to guard the door. The door would be made of steel, and not a single crack would bestow it. The bolts in the castle walls and the door would be as solid as bone. My castle wouldn't have a king or queen. Just me. And the two guards would never let anyone in.

The castle would be for me and the voices in my head. No, not the one who tells you what's right and what's wrong. Mine is Russian. Now, don't laugh. The Russian voice and the regular voice have arguments, I named them, too. The Russian voice is named Schvetla. The voice without an accent, she's named Julia. Schvetla and Julia seem to argue a lot. But, the funny thing is, their arguments don't make sense to me. 

The arguments are always about me. And no, not good things either. They argue about how I should kill myself. They argue about my flaws, my imperfections, my mistakes, my problems. My business. My private business and nobody else's business. But apparently, that rule doesn't apply to Schvetla and Julia. 

Schvetla always tells me that my way to die is by noose, neck fastened tight. She tells me that as my big toe approaches the edge of the stair, slowly, waiting to initiate my death. I don't like life, and life doesn't like me, I guess it just wasn't meant to be for me.

When I tell people about Schvetla and her story of my toe, waiting to kill me, they often ask how, or why I choose to remember. But you yourself probably remember my story about the castle, so why do people ask?

They tell me not to listen to the voices. They tell me they're not there, and I choose to imagine them. But tell me, why would I choose this path? Do I want the pills? No. I don't, not that kind. Do I want attention? No. Not that kind. So tell me, why would I choose to be labeled as insane?

I don't want to be insane. I wish I could kill Julia and Schvetla, but that means I would go with them.

Bringing self-inflicted bruises and cuts to show and tell but never telling isn't fun. 

I'm not the only kid who grows up this way. School is a battleground, but we are surely outnumbered. So tell me, would you talk to me? I sure wouldn't.

One day my big toe will slip.

Author's Note

ignore grammar and spelling problems