Life: A Story

September 23, 2011
By Rhianonymous BRONZE, Inverness, Other
Rhianonymous BRONZE, Inverness, Other
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Today is the best day. Today is worst day.

The rain is beautiful. The fall of water from such a weightless looking object that we dare to call a cloud makes the rain that even more magical. The smell of the grass stained with dew as I was walking up my front garden path made me almost cry. I cry a lot right now, or should I say, I feel like crying a lot right now. My pretend world in my head is not keeping me alive any longer, even the residents of my made up life want nothing to do with me, the girl in my mind feels even worse than what I feel like. I love the rain. I love going out in the rain in just my jeans and t-shirt and standing barefoot in my back garden with my head tilted to the sky and my arms raised as though I’m away to shout at a God above me for all the hate in the world. I don’t though. I never would.

The first splash of moisture is always the best, after that they all blend into one and I can no longer differentiate between the ones I want to fall on me and the ones I am trying to avoid. Then there comes a point that the warmth from the rain turns cold. Not as cold as ice but cooler by far than the heat I was expecting, maybe even hoping for. My t-shirt is stuck to my pale, dead looking skin and has turned a transparent shade of light blue. My outline is clearly visible for all to see. My jeans are even tighter around my too big legs and I can not bear to look down and the big chunks of fat, so I don’t. The over whelming self loathing just being another daily occurrence for my mangled mind. My small feet are surviving the little stones that like to torture the soles as I use my last ounce of energy to push up onto my toes. With my head still thrown back to the clouds and my arms out thrown I twist my legs and hurl my hips round and I spin in disorienting circles as though trying to reclaim a childish experience. I keep twirling until the sickness I feel from my stomach rejecting this course of action outweighs the heavy rain clouds in my head.

If I’m not careful I will fall. I will fall and the best case scenario will be me cracking my skull onto the concrete and letting the blood wash my hair and trickle into the cracks where all the small insects delve. When I do fall I trip over my own feet and land sprawled on my back on the sodden grass. The dirt gives a little under my suffocating, all consuming body and I look up to the sky. It is as if the sky is miserable because of my misery but I am not vain enough to even think that possible.

As I cast my dreary eyes up I catch your gaze in the window above me. You are looking at me like you always look at me now. The sad smile that dares cross your beautiful face twitches with something else entirely. Is it regret? Don’t worry, I would regret being with me too. Your pale blue eyes have a far away gaze and for that moment I feel as though you can see straight through me. Through the lies I have shrouded myself in and the unspoken truths that were never made for uttering.
I push my rain soaked fringe out of my lifeless eyes and I attempt to smile back at you. Almost immediately your eyes harden and you look away. Quickly you regain composure and return a soft smile that does not look the same as it used to.

The only way I can tell the difference between my tears and the sky crying is the temperature. Thankfully you have no idea. I close my eyes and I remember a time when I used to loathe the rain. Depression is like that. It is a disease that holds no prisoners, instead it captures it's victims in a death grip by their mind and sentences them to a life time of...nothing. The images once bright are diluted through a thin veil that covers your eyes and warps the pictures until it is but a beautiful shadow of its former glory.

Mostly there are long drawn out nights where there is nothing but dark. Those are the times when I question who turned the lights off. Oh, that's right, it's the clouds that are covering the stars. They shroud the pinpricks of hope that once lit up my world and encompass them in an all dwelling gloom. The covers that I cling to my frail, shaking body don't keep me warm. The heater warming my surroundings fails to penetrate the icy chill that sits upon my chest whilst sinking through into my bones and running through my veins.

I shake when I try to get out of my nirvana in my closeted mind. There is a shadow covering my brain and diluting all my external emotions, like diffusion of myself. I am lost to the outside world; a wanderer who wishes desperately for a map to guide him home. If only the dilution could happen on the inside. My eyes feel heavy, heavier than usual, a weight pressing down behind them and squeezing them and pushing at my brain. My distortions make me scared. How can I see this? I still fail to believe that the world you inhibit can be so cruel. I always knew I was never strong enough to survive life on Earth, I never was brave enough.

I cover my whole body with my thin duvet and tuck the remains around myself. Inside my created fantasy the air is too thick to breathe. In a desperate deprivation I claw at any exposed skin with my picked off finger nails to try and distract myself from my inner confusion that is eating me alive. The pain does nothing to subdue the turmoil that remains within my head. Nothing of value remains. Nothing of value can remain.

My already accelerating heart beats faster still until the painful extraction of my mind has lessoned by a fraction. The walls are closing in, however I kick out and scrabble at my poorly built cage but there is no escape. My cries and pleas of release fall on silence. The silence tells you that there is no one. I am on my own again. I am not a princess in a fairytale – there is no prince charming coming to rescue me. This is the beginning of depression and depression holds no prisoners, only death sentences unless you're lucky enough to get out of it alive. This is depression and this is waking up in the morning afraid I am going to live; but who would want to live like this? This is the fiery pits of hell and the burning of my flesh is no release to the torture in my mind.

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