Cycle

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Frustration draws over me as I clench my fists until they leave crescent marks for blood to flow out. The raging in my head explodes, creating vibrations that ring through my ears. It’s loud inside my head but it’s quiet in my room, the only sound of the constant hum of the air conditioner. I look at the digital clock slowly changing digits, minutes passing. The tears don’t stop flowing; they make a way to exit my tightly closed eyes. My breathing is hard and slow, my heart beat racing. How long as it been?

The vibrations of yells are blurred by the walls that try so hard to protect me. I pin my ears against the door, trying, trying so hard to listen to what they argue about. I hear my name. I hear my name with full despite as if everything was my fault. The lick of fear touches my neck and I cringe. I slowly refrain myself from listening with the fear that I might know too much of the truth. The heart-aching truth that I will never forgive myself for. It is better to live a lie with satisfaction than to live the truth without passion. I am scared, I am a coward.

I pray, I pray for it to be over. I pray for it to be okay again. I pray for the strength, the hope, the love I need to keep moving forward. I pray as sleep slowly crawls and wraps itself like a cloak around me, until I fall asleep. I wake up, it’s 2 a.m. The fighting and yelling stopped but the silence pierce my ears. I slowly turn the door knob to find the living room trashed and doors locked. I take each step with precision to the kitchen, to grab whatever I can to have my dinner. I don’t feel hungry but I need to eat. I break down as I take my first bite of bread.

That’s when it hit me: “What am I doing? I could cry my heart out but this won’t change anything. I can leave but the past will always haunt me. Why am I still holding on? Why am I thinking of everyone else except me when I’m the one hurting?” The idea that I stuffed deep down within my brain, slowly emerges. The feelings I thought I had forgotten. I’m digging deeper, only to find more dirt. I put the thought aside and try to go back to sleep. It is 4 a.m. but I am still wide awake with the thought constantly greeting me, forcing my eye lids to open and see the truth. I give up.

Three, two, one, you’re out; I raise the red flag, I tap out, I ring the final bell, I turn off the power, press the stop button. I give up.

“Just like that?” I thought to myself, “You’re going to quit just like that? What is wrong with you? Why can’t you stand up and fight for yourself, to keep your dignity?”

“Because I’m tired and the consequences don’t make sense anymore. The reasons I have are vague in my memory and the film that constantly plays about my past only brings up the knife again. Admit it, you want out. Straight and fast, to escape the labyrinth of suffering. Forget the consequences.” I slowly whispered the answers to myself.

I punch myself for thinking the thought again, after all these years. I need to get ready for school. I just hope I don’t cry again. I showered and got dressed. I cry in the bus but no one said anything when they should have told me everything. I slowly got out of the car with silence. I decide to check myself in the mirror and wash up.

I see my friends standing around like they do in the morning, waiting to get the day started. I try so hard to smile, to greet them a “good morning” because I whole-heartily hope that they do have a good morning. I am silent, the protruding thought start to emerge. I am only brought back to awareness by a patting hand on my shoulder.

“Everything alright?” a voice asked.

I turned around to see my only best friend that never gave up on me to this day. I painfully put on a smile, hoping it was enough to convince him.

“Yeah, I was… just crying earlier.” I don’t hide things from him.

“Aw, here.” he pointed towards his shoulder, crying shoulder. I found the humor funny and can’t help but give out a genuine laugh. Should I tell him what is bothering me? I really need to tell this to someone because I know it isn’t right. He was the only I could tell this to without worrying, I trusted him.

I slowly mustered the confidence to tell him, despite the raging noises in the school. I had the fear that he will turn his back against me, to let me solve everything on my own. That’s what people have been doing lately. But no, I need to remind myself that he is my best friend, will be there for me. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel uncomfortable talking about the topic.

“I give up…” I slowly said, tears starting to form as the yells and fights flash before my eyes. I didn’t have to repeat myself nor did I have to explain what I meant about “giving up.” He knew. I felt ashamed to even look into his eyes, I felt like a coward running away from the life that was bestowed upon me. He tells me that it is not the answer. It is the sign of weakness.

I know I am weak and I know it is not the answer. It doesn’t change the fact all I want is for it to be over. I can’t express the frustration that is building up inside me right now, writing this. I am stupid and I am weak. I don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to think. I’m consumed by the thought and by my emotions. I watch my best friend tell me his story of past experience. I hold onto the tears.

I never would have thought he went through something similar. I felt the pain he might have felt, the tears start to form but I hold it because there is a crowd around us. I looked at his eyes and I see the same pain I see when I stare at myself in the mirror. I look at him, look where he is now. I admire him for having that strength to hold on. I need that same strength because I don’t think I can longer hold on. I’m dangling on a piece of thread.

I vent, I tell him everything I wanted to tell him. It was like taking the world’s weight off my shoulders. I can finally breathe. The talk we had, it was reassuring. I can’t express enough gratitude of how much he helped me just by listening and being a friend.

I get home only to face the same situation again. The same thought occurs. I got the gun in my pocket, the trigger between my finger tips. I just want to run away, to run away from this thought I want. I just want to run until I can’t catch my breath, scream on the top of my lungs, and collapse from exhaustion. Only this time, when I wake up, everything is the same as it used to be. The way it’s supposed to be. The day when I never had this thought and the day when I can breathe and smile again.

Oh please, help me. Let this thought vanish from my mind forever. End this cycle before I end myself.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

..RJ.. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 2:23 am
wow. That's definetly different. Thanks for the perspective. I've never really understood... I think I do now. Thank you.
 
explodingcars replied...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 3:03 am
Thank you for putting it into perspective. (:
 
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