All my life I've had but one question; why?
Why must I suffer so?
Why must there be no light at the end of the tunnel?
Why does every person I meet leave eventually?
Why me?
All these questions haunt me, stalking me through the day and in my dreams. But do I deserve this?
I probably do.
It all started when I was a little child. While all my peers were focused on playing in the mud and enjoying themselves, I walked the path by my school alone. Ignored. A ghost, only noticed when I made a noise. The days went by like a raging river, the moments where I was not dreading tomorrow oh so short. Too little time, yet so many days. By the age of eight or nine I had realised I existed, no longer blatantly listening to those around me. My mother's lies became apparent: nothing she ever told me was true. And this is not about "The Tooth Fairy" or "Santa". This concerns something that should never concern a child, who was stripped of their childhood too early. The universe. The reason we exist. The reason anything exists. Existential questions without answers plagued fragile, little me. And still do.
That's when the arguments began; my mother, no longer being able to control me like a puppet, fell into a state of cold yet scolding rage. She stopped being the soft pillow I could rest my head on, and instead became a ball of molten rock and shards, cutting and burning me everywhere I went. Burning her hatred into my mind, my soul. Had I realised the uselessness of arguing earlier, I might have saved myself from what burdens my body now; legs scarred beyond repair. Irreversible damage keeping me from what I love, what I wish to do, what I wish to wear, where I wish to go. Summers are especially difficult, for I cannot wear anything above my ankles. I should be able to tell my parents, shouldn't I? Wrong. I can already hear them yelling; "Why? Do you hate us that much? You ungrateful brat!".
The ringing never stopped.
The ringing in my ears, drowning my thoughts.
The ringing never will stop.
Or so I thought, for seven painful years.
Or so I thought, until I went to a new school.
Barely anyone knew the old me, the me that was resented for gods know what reason. This was my chance to heal my broken heart.
But a broken heart never heals.
Only three months later my chest hurts again. The dark grip of my own hatred curling around who I am, whispering in my mind. Pulling me back to the dark hell I thought I escaped.
The questions, that I tried to forget, emerge again; Why me?
Ignored, pushed away, resented. Those are the words that fit me. Why? Why? Why?
My vision is filled with red again, my pulse beating war drums in my mind. Oh, to slash ravines in the soil of my being once more. To feel something, to feel like someone.
This is my plea for help.
Someone save me, please.
Before I do.
Before I–
Die.
Drop after drop the life of a soul is drained.
Drop after drop their life remained.
Yet here I am, still alive. Physically, at least. I had found ways to cope, to keep the void away. Barely holding on. But how long can one keep going like this? How long can a poor soul keep draining into the void, before dissipating entirely? There is only so much hope one can have. So much will to keep going.
In the river lies a boy
In the river swims his blood
The void is getting closer. It's whispering, inviting me in. Although aware of it being a trap, I feel compelled to give in. Its sweet velvet is so soft, so calming. Shall I just give up?
Give in.
Give up.
Listen.
Sleep.