***, ***

When others talk, others listen. When others listen to the speaker, everything changes. Their perspective. Their behavior. Toward that one thing or someone they have thought of or never knew of before. It all aligns into an invisible chain and that chain can either tangle or intertwine within itself here and there. But where? Any where. Any time. There is no warning, so there shouldn’t be crying despite it’s strangle it can have on one self.

About two days ago I woke up to go to school. I was becoming overwhelmed that very morning and I didn’t know why. Today is going to be a bad day. I felt it in my gut as I walked out of my chair to go to the next class. The day dragged on, thoughts of home and academics strolled on like an endless abyss getting wider and wider while I stood on the edge, ready to fall.

I got home. I ate quickly and scribbled down to finish some homework before going to my singing class. I really didn’t want to go because I wasn’t able to sing and I wasn’t in the best mood to socialize since I had been feeling down the whole day. My phone rings and to my surprise it is a foreign number. This stranger asks about my personal life. Apparently it is known thanks to rumors at school. Not from my mouth, I’ve never said a word. From someone else. Many others. As I explained to this stranger how it was not all how it seemed, the process brought back vivid images and the memories I’ve tried to suppress to the point where I could not remember anymore. I really wish he hadn’t talked about me for this stranger to have known. Everyone supports him, it’s fine I guess. But no body really knows what I went through, and if they do it isn’t because I told them. It is only because my “experience” was told from his perspective. He put the words in my mouth even though I didn’t say them, he just made it seem like it. And these vivid images, these ugly memories brought me to a breakdown where I was reliving my trauma again, two times per second. I couldn’t control it. The marble tears rolled out of my eyes in heavy spasms, down my cheeks. I rubbed the water across the bottom of my eye lid, smearing each possible tear as if trying to erase the horror I felt inside. My heart pounded a million times like daggers stabbing a lifeless corpse for fun. The chest heaved and my body trembled from somewhere deep inside me that I couldn’t control anything. I felt like I was walking through thorns, screaming in pain for help or comfort. I came to the point to admit that I was scared. I am scared. I wouldn’t mind dying at all, I thought. I would really like to die now, I repeated. The trauma is back once again, holding my heart on its cold hands who have the power to set it on fire until it turns to ash.

When I was going to start high school, I imagined myself being the lonely girl in the corner either wrapped with her reading or scribbling in her notebook. It was going great at first until he came into the picture. Life changed. He talked, even if it wasn’t in person, but he voiced himself to the point where everyone heard. People know me now, even if I don’t know them. They know a story that is not complete. Their truth is a lie. My truth is a lie. So in this world, who comes to be the truth? I wasn’t expecting my life to come to the point where I have to stand higher than ever because I do not want to seem like I’ve fallen. I have managed to pull myself together, to move on and try to live isolated as much as possible. To go after my dreams and no care about who tries to stop me from them because this chain of past events is trying to strangle me unexpectedly. There is no warning, so there shouldn’t be crying despite it’s strangle it can have on one self.