The Evolution of a Survivor

September 16, 2017
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When you first lied eyes on me, you did not think I was one of those people.  But when I entered the bottomless well, I fell victim to evolution.  I had to  transform in order to survive. After all, we’ve all seen how life enjoys playing us like Barbies in a dollhouse.

Since a young age, I have had the insatiable desire to feel validated by others. I felt average and boring like a sheet of lined paper. Looking at the adults role models in my life, I felt the pressure to meet their standards and continue their legacies. Whether it was studying for eight hours in a shut room or spending three hours at the gym, I disciplined my body to obey my mind. Being a slave to my thoughts, I suffered immensely physically and mentally from my own mind. But eventually, I realized I had to find some sort of balance.

To let go, I let those streaks of light take control of me, piercing and flashing away. Of course, the incredibly loud music rattles my blood every weekend, giving me a sense of what it feels like to live. As the sky darkens into pitch black, notes of deep, smooth bass vibrates through the room and into everyone’s hearts. That darkness provides me with safety that I can’t even find in my own bed each night. The flood of darkness hides the hideous masks everyone wears during the day. And because we can’t see, those masks come off, releasing our true selves. No more fear of imperfections, mistakes, or shame. The cackling sound of loud drunken voices and high pitched laughter resonates around the room. Every smile I see seems to lift my own lips up into a curve. I feel young and alive, and despite how long it has been, I feel  finally ready to stay alive. Going out at night gives my mind and body more liberation. My limbs are naturally attracted to the fast paced songs. Each beat seems to strike an instinct inside of me. Most of all, I love the people at parties. Every one of them so different and trying their own best to stand out. From my o friends dancing outrageously in the center to guys I flirt with, having all those people around me just gives me false security.

And whether it’s because I never had a proper father figure in my life or my own  tragic desire to be wanted, my connections with the guys I meet at parties always spark flames that I wish I could distinguish. I drown in their attention and temporary love. I want to talk and talk until we fade away into the night. Because when I do, I have the illusion that they would fall in love with who I am.  I guess that’s why I like these things. I’m just a desperate gatherer, praying for genuine care. I’m looking for someone who will be there for me, even though there’s not obligation to do so. I’m looking for someone to hold me like a treasure even when I’m shaking and crying so hard that I’m unable to speak. I want someone I can lean on at 3 a.m when demons chain me to the corner of my room. I’m looking for someone that smiles because of my existence. I need someone to make my soul less grey, less empty, and less lonely.

After dancing for what seems like hours, they will all grab my phone from my back pocket and punch in a few numbers or letters. I, as the fool I once was, would be incredibly happy and feel as if I’ve found someone who would treasure me. Then after a little while, we talk. Then, I realize how shallow they all were. They didn’t care about me at all, at least not me as a person. For a second, they can always fool me. Then I realize, they never even looked at my eyes.

Now, I head straight for what will absorb me into the bright lights and booming music. I want to fade away in these parties. I would to dance and laugh so hard that I become as thin as air and float away, leaving only a lovely trace of perfume. I want to dance and laugh so hard that I fall to the ground. That I will faint and forget everything that has ever broken me before. I want to wake up not knowing anything other than the fun I had at the party, ignoring all the pain life had beared. Yet, this doesn’t happen and I know it will never happen. After each party, I go home and lay in bed. Tousled hair stick down from the edge of my bed as I lie there. My uncomfortable shirt still on and the tears from the corners of my eyes begin to wash off that expensive mascara I spent months saving up for. I lay there once again in the dark. No more heartbeat bass sounds, no more flashing strobe lights. I lay there on my own, in complete silence. When my parents see me like that, I just mutter “I’m tired,” then shut the door and turn the light off. I would lay there for a long time. I’m one of the hundreds of people who bleed from their eyes every single night. I know I should not lament a love that was never mine. My pupils burn because of how hard I am staring into the pure blackness. I search for something, anything, that will make me feel loved. I need something that would give me joy and fill up the void inside. But on most nights, I am paralyzed in that darkness with tired eyes and shattered hopes.






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