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Sometimes the silence is much worse than any words thrown my way.
Sitting in the corner, watching people go past, oblivious to the shadowed figure burning a hole in their back, I smile to myself. Tomorrow they will notice me, I think,tomorrow they'll be wishing they noticed me sooner. I also my thoughts to disappear with the rhythmic steps of the crowd, each compression of air reminding me of just how alone I really am.
The line between chaos and I is always very thin. The line between despair and I is non-existent.
I pull myself back into one of my favourite daydreams and close my eyes. The sea air surrounds me, gives me a new feeling of life; the salty air flavouring my every breath, the dim light fading as the sun pulls back behind the clouds for the night. I prefer the night time. The sky turns a deep black and the swirling cloud seem to float across it like a lake of air currents. I can also hide in the night time. I have one of those faces that you forget the instant you see it, average. I blend in to every scenario, never being noticed... but at night that's not so exclusive to me. At night nobody can be seen? Or can they? A shrill hoot from above brings me back from my thoughts. The owl swoops down in front of me, but I do not flinch. I am used to it by now.
Laughing at the audacity of the owl, I step forwards, feeling the soft grass underfoot turn into the rough rock of the cliff top. From my vantage point everything seems in perspective; the swirling mass of dark seas storms away underfoot, a cool breezes plays lightly with my hair and I sigh. How can a world be so perfect as this yet contain... well, people? I am in a constant state of fear. The fear one has before their final moments alive.
I am not a fan of the human race. Look at all the mistakes we've made and try to argue with me. Socially, I'm considered backwards. Humans, I've noticed, love to talk whereas I prefer to listen, to quietly calculate.
My toes curl over the edges of the cliff face and I lean forwards, letting the air rush around me as I fall. I feel oddly calm, as if this is somehow right and for the best.
The water encloses me in a burst of cold and much resembles the chill of a razor blade, a familiar friend of mind. My eyes are closed and my mind is calm, but I can't help but think that this is all some bizarre metaphor for my entire life.
I am drowning. Constantly drowning. But I am conscious. Just about. I have been submerged for so long. Over a year, my lungs have been wet and bloated. Over a year I have been in this box of water, for so long I gave up trying to smash through the glass. I have drowned.
I shake myself awake and force my body upwards through the surface just as a wave breaks around me. I am gasping for air, exhausted both mentally and physically, but my eyes are open, my thoughts still speak and I am conscious, but dead. A perfect oxymoron. A constant battle between reason and love. A love for something unfathomable, unreasonable. My love for isolation. I do not deserve companionship, nor deserve it. Yet it is not that which I crave the most.
I do not walk, I do not talk, I do not blink but I can see, hear and feel the water around me. Suffocating me. As I wake, as I sleep, I am in this box of water. Drowned. Dead.
And I deserve it.
I know what it is to be dead. I have drowned in a box of water made by my own hand.
I know what it is to be dead.
And I love it.
Opening my eyes, the colourless train station reappears, the harsh lighting makes me squint to see clearly. Across from me an advertising board screams "Live For Your Dreams!" followed by a few actors names and what I guess is the film title. I care for neither addition, only stare are the strapline. It must be wrong, but I find it kind of funny, no, I find it kind of sad that dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
I smile as the quote rings out in foggy recognition.
A family walk past. They seem happy, I notice. Do I detect jealously in my thoughts? Bitterness? It must be nice to be happy. Happy families: the one card game I could never master. I had a family once. Imagine it: amongst your family, not daring to breathe, avoiding eye contact in case one of them discovers the terrible truth: that your hollow inside and leave you bitter and alone.
And leave you drowning in the silence.
I call out to the shadows of memories in my mind. Remember when I used to care, I call, Do you? When I used to actually think?
And so I do think, back, further and further to when I first started to listen.
But nobody listened to me.
I am the child that time forgot, I am the child that stands to be lost. Yet I can see by myself that I'm downward spiralling, as I get closer I'm starting to see the bottom.
So close to caving in on myself, so close to falling apart, crumpling down and just letting go. The true tragedy is nobody would notice. The tragedy is, nobody has. I'm nearly at my furthest point. I consider giving in and smile.
Tomorrow, I think, just 24 more hours.





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