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Feeling

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When emotions become overwhelming and tangled, I’d prefer to be numb. After awhile though, even numb has its downs; it gets very tiring after awhile and eventually, I’m sure, turns to depression. But then again, depression would be feeling something, so maybe not.
Sometimes I feel like I live in two different worlds. The first world is of feeling; it’s happy and sad and up and down and, sometimes, it feels like hell. That’s the world of life. The other is when I’m numb. That world is gray and dull and… lifeless. That’s how I feel being numbed sometimes, lifeless. That world is like my best friend and worst enemy rolled into one.

The worst thing about being in two different worlds is the transition between lifeless and life. It’s like feeling the first drops of rain on your skin before a downpour. Slowly bit by bit reality comes back into play. There’s no particular order of what I start to feel first, just piece by piece it settles on me until I feel it fully. It’s an overwhelming experience… only those who have gone through it know what it’s like.

I cross to my dresser, pull out a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt and begin to undress. My baggy pajamas hang from my legs and arms, dead, like limp spaghetti. I find comfort in the baggy old clothes. When I sit on the floor and pull my knees up to my chest I can faintly smell good times still left in them. The smell that’s in the air before it rains, vanilla, and a musty smell that I can’t quite place. Even with reminders of the good times I can’t remember any of them. It’s a blur… not enough of my life to make an impact I guess.

I think of all the times I’ve ever been invited to a friends’ house. No matter where I am, who I’m with, the parents (or parent) always look me up and down like I’m a dress in a store window and they’re deciding whether or not to buy me. I see their expression of disgust as they take in my dirty hair that’s considered short for a girl and long for a boy, my jeans with their bright neon colors, and all my other accessories and clothing that categorize me as “goth” or “emo”.

The first day of school is the same. People size you up, decide if you’re worthy of anything or not. If you’re not you’re considered an outcast, a freak. You are the person who stands at the edge of crowds, sits at dances, in the back of the classroom and never speaks a word. That describes me.





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