Warm Water in the Dark

Are you ever in a bad mood that you can't explain to yourself? Sadness and anger are alternating then occasionally mixing together to form a nasty fusion. Everything is okay, for the most part. Why now? Then you feel the warm water on your bare back and it just makes you feel like you're sinking right into a pit of emotions that you try your best to ignore on a regular basis. You notice a sad song is playing. You consider changing it. You don't because you're hoping it will work as a catalyst so you'll be at the other end of this thing quickly. It works. It doesn't work. The anger is mostly gone now, but your sadness is all around you and it doesn't seem to want to leave any time soon. One particularly hot drop of water falls on your cheek and you think about crying. Your eyes don't want to cry, but your mind is crying. Then the song changes and it's happy. You consider changing it. You don't because you're hoping the happiness of it will rub off on you and everything will go back to normal. It doesn't work. You end up hating the song that you loved two days ago because the people sound genuinely happy and you realize you've never been genuinely happy. You know this because if you have to question whether you're happy.. it usually means you're not happy. They're singing about love. Do you want love? Maybe. I guess that's why you've been spending all your spare time talking to three different boys and wishing they'd say something magical. No. You don't want love. You just want to be noticed. Your best shot is these boys. It's useless. But love isn't what's got you feeling like someone is squeezing your heart and pushing it further and further into your chest to the point that it feels like it's not there anymore. It's gone. Was it ever there? Maybe it's not the love of a boy that you want. It's the love of a mother that you were cheated out of. She hates you. She uses you. She asks God to tell her why she was given a demon instead of a child. You purposely make her angry. That's the only time she notices you. You remember how she used to hit you. You check if the scars are still there. They're not there. They're still there. The marks don't color and swell your skin anymore. You see them anyway. You touch the smooth, tanned skin. You wish it wasn't yours. You wish you were someone else. You're smart and insightful. You'd give that up because people say ignorance is bliss. You wreck that train of thought. If you didn't have your intelligence, you wouldn't have anything. Anything. What do you want? What's missing here? You can't name it, but you can feel its absence. You think of your mother again. You don't want her love. If she decided to start loving you, you would murder her and then yourself. You wouldn't kill yourself. You don't want to see her in hell. You don't believe in hell. You don't believe in heaven. You barely believe in here and now. You think of the future. You wish you could just skip ahead a few decades. You want to be old and wise. But being old doesn't necessarily mean you'll be wise. You discard that wish. Then you think about other things you want. Maybe somewhere in the jumble you'll figure out what it is you yearn for at this very moment. You want to be different. Maybe if you were more friendly it would be better. Maybe if you were more trusting it would be better. Maybe if you were willing to let someone in. Then you remember you're guarded for a reason. Nobody is willing to listen to what you have to say. This is why you sometimes spend hours in bed crying and pretending you're telling all your troubles to someone that's listening. It always helps a little. It'll never help as much as telling someone real will help. Then you start to miss your old best friend. Then you get angry again. Why were you so full of shit back then? It's no wonder he never talks to you anymore. No wonder why he forgot you. He never believed anything you said to him. I forgive you. I know. You only made up that story about your dad dying so he would understand how much pain you were in. In reality, your mother was just a bitch and you did not know how to deal with her. You still cared what she thought. You stopped caring shortly after that. You really do miss him. You think about that time you bluffed and told him you were seriously considering suicide. He told your sister. Your sister talked to you and told you the story about how she used to cut herself to escape. You cut too. It didn't help very much. He asked you to stop because he didn't think it helped and he seemed to be very concerned. You smoked. That didn't help either. Music. It helped. It doesn't help anymore. You love it anyway. Sleep still helps unless the nightmare comes back. You should sleep. Maybe you won't kill your brother tonight. If you do, you'll just wake up and walk to his room and realize that he's still there. Still breathing. You love him. He's your mind twin. Ten years apart and the boy is more compatible to you than even a real twin could be. You only hate him when he is with your sister. They are close to the same age; a little under two years apart. When they're together you think about August when you'll leave for college. You think about never coming back. You remember that you won't be having your own car and that you'll need to depend on your father until you can afford one yourself. Then you get angry again. He has two, but he already warned you that you will be given neither. College is four hours away from home. You don't know anybody further than 20 minutes away from here. You'll be stuck on campus all the time. The odds of you making any real friends is slim. You're awkward when you meet new people. At least you'll be away from it all. It's already May. You can wait three more months. You've waited 18 years already. Hopefully you won't turn into Icarus. Try not to abuse the freedom. Nothing good comes from freedom. You don't understand why everyone puts such a positive connotation on the word. Freedom on earth does not exist. It's all just a shackling system of incentives and manipulation. The only true freedom exists in death. Life is a joke. You notice more anger. You kick. Now there's a hole in the wall. You laugh. Walls are so hollow. Yet they hold up an entire structure. Then you understand. You're hollow too. You can stay together too. Live, work, die.