Broken, Flawed & Living (Discontinued)

Scandal Part II

Any day now I might burn the damn thing.

With my head resting on my arms, I groaned and this louder, and sighed in the moment for the hundredth time. My brain mustered in clumps of disfigured and contorted imagery and emotions on reality.

At least I had my music. The one thing besides my sister who stood by my side through the dark and depressing times, for the third time I went in and attempted a form of liberation from life, the world... my reality.

A guy my age shouldn't feel this way, certainly not for a guy who was drugged on hormones. I needed a life beyond this, a life where I had fun and pleasure and the leisure of peaceful nights and beautiful mornings. I envied the lives of my friends and family who never stressed out enough and the ones who stressed just the right amount when exam season came around.

Ideals... they were to be met somehow, someway. Someday. Sooner the better than when I succeed at my pain's freedom.

Fuck... I pulled my head up, slouched on my chair and reminisced the words Oliver said last to me last Sunday. As I held the pencil, I tapped the end on my desk and remembered the whole reason I started a journal, the reason I discovered my needs and wants of now and what my future decided.

How could I forget?

"Remember when you were young and you wrote about every single tantrum you had, all the bottled up anger that pushed everyone away until the seventh grade? You met amazing people then; Christian, Levy, Leone, Tommy, Kayla... and your own family became more involved in the development of helping you. You can't deny that the love you thought you had for Anthony... the one you thought he gave in return helped the most. Until now... and I want you start writing again; I know it helps to relieve your stress somewhere when you're too weak to tell the tables about it," he had said.

For a father who yearned for a bond, I took it elsewhere with my therapist, Oliver Armstrong. For as long as my journal pissed me off, I continued to write thanks to him.

Oliver understood me like my friends did back then as kids, but he knew what I wanted to hear even when I never realized it. No one takes a child to a therapist except for my parents and that only bettered my wellbeing in the long run. I could never live without him.

He continued saying, "I know I can't understand the pain he and your brother inflicted on you; emotional and physically... But I can understand the depression and anger and the denial on one's self-worth when I see it, and the damage it causes to not only themselves, but to those around them; pushing them away from the very connection that healed the tumour. Continue to write, no matter how much you wish to toss the book and kill your mind, because one day, everyone will know. Your friends will be there, your family by your side till your old and worn, and a lover who understands and makes sense of your mind. You don't have to work out for a distraction anymore; it was never about revenge."

It was never about revenge, he said... I never had to work out... that he never understood. The boy I used to be wasn't alive today and he just didn't want to believe. I didn't want to believe it before, and I guess that's why no one wants to dare be more than friends.

But I got it. I understood why.

When I first started out in the gym, confidence was a foot away, my main goal, as I fought for courage and brute strength for I wanted to deal out my own served justice when the cops wouldn't give a damn. After all, what Tori did, evidence would be highly insufficient and completely run on our stories against theirs.

Can't blame her, though... she did what she thought was best and I love her for it.

Soon the fain noise of a ruckus faded in my ears and I yanked my earbuds out, turning towards the door.