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The Shell

By , Basking Ridge, NJ
The quiet music filled the silence. She swayed back and fourth humming along with the music. My brothers sat inside talking about their future. I sat there, hurting. The emptiness was supposed to be filled by now. I was supposed to be okay, happy, but I wasn’t. Some people say that emptiness is a good thing, that there’s more room for happiness. But what the people don’t realize is there is also more room for despair, anger, and most of all sadness. I couldn't tell my mother. I didn't want to state the words that dwelled inside of me. Saying them out loud would make them true and I desperately wanted them to be false. I didn't want to get sick again. Sick. Sick means a cough or cold no one ever thinks that it could be mental. Mental. Insane. Two words pushed together making anyone who had depression or anxiety sound crazy. From when you were little you stayed away from the crazy people and the people that looked different. But inside we are all the same. Everyone feels. Pain, anger, heart-break, joy, excitement. Others though are more sensitive. The pain swallows them whole eating them in the inside. The hot tears started to rise in my eyes, my chest ached from the tightness. Again my thoughts were going off in a trail. I pushed my chair back and walked up the back steps. I floated to my room, closing the door behind me. I sat down on my floor putting my head in-between my legs. My fingers dug into the back of my head. I couldn't deal with the pain. My heart hurt, if as someone had slowly been clawing at it. Theres no words to describe the horrible feeling. I just wanted to disappear. The world would be no different without me. It was like I wasn't there anyway. I was a shell of who i’d used to be. Carrying the body of human but inside empty. If you'd cut me open id be empty inside no organs nothing, just hollow.



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