Forrest's Heart

❽:❸❾ P.M

8:39 P.M

I lay on top of my bed, looking at the ceiling. Dim lighting from my lamp makes my shadow. Hearing car horns outside my window and look out to see the street lamps shine on the empty sidewalks.

People have been looking at me as a depressed or gothic kid. But I don't really see it as that. I see myself as..

Confused

People had tried asking what's wrong with me, but there would be no point. They wouldn't be able to comprehend how I felt. A pat on the back and a "It's gonna be ok.", doesn't help one bit. You may think it does, but it doesn't make the pain any less.

I got out the hospital 3 days ago. Today is currently a Sunday. A school night.

I could only imagine what I would go through tomorrow. I knew tomorrow wouldn't be the greatest day of my life. Hell, I don't think there is a day that is worthy of that title. Of all my years of living, I haven't really felt like there's been a day like that. I wouldn't say Victoria finally giving me a chance was, or even being announced as captain of the soccer team. I was happy, but it wasn't the greatest day of my life.

After my attempt, my parents didn't look at me the same. All I saw was disappointment present in their eyes. I didn't see even one ounce of concern or love in their eyes. They were probably worried about me being the talk of the town and how'd they look. Being one of the richest families in town brought us way too much attention. They could care less about me, but worry about what other people think.

Crazy right?

I thought maybe if I was dead, they wouldn't have cared. They would have carried on with their lives. Forget about me. When I got back home, neither of them said one word to me. All I heard when I walked through the wooden floors, was the heels of my mothers stilettos making contact with the ground. My dad talking on the phone with a hushed tone.

They both looked exhausted. They were probably tired of my shit. In their eyes, they thought I was just peachy. A boy who loved his life and loved his parents. Their exact thoughts were "He just had a slip up." All of my smiles were just a mask. A mask from my feelings deep inside. I was never exactly happy. How could I when there's people around who aren't good influences. The people who aren't giving me a reason to.

Shaking away my thoughts, I walked to the lamp and turned its nob to turn it off. I walked back to my bed and laid on top of my covers.

This room is an exact replica of how I felt.

Dark

I don't really know why I did it. Maybe I was tired of being called the perfectionist. That's all I ever was in everyone's eyes. They didn't care about how I felt. They didn't know what I was feeling deep inside my heart. It wasn't happiness I'll tell you that.

All those smiles and laughter you saw from me was only a mask. A mask to hide my true feelings. I felt lost. Confused about why was I was doing all this. Was I doing this all to keep my parents happy? Or to make myself happy. I really had to ask myself these questions.

I thought if I did it, I wouldn't feel this pain that was in my heart anymore. I was tired of being that perfectionist. I was tired of the partying and going to every fucking game. Putting that stupid fake smile that was plastered on my face. Pretending that   I cared about all these people. I didn't, I cared about the people close to me.

My face was like a painting. I may look happy but you would have to look deeper. Look deeper and see my true feeling which was sadness. The colors didn't mean shit. You had to find the meaning. Not from what it looked like but find its deeper meaning.

I hated this life. I wanted to get out of it.

When I got out of the hospital, all I saw was exhaustion from my parents. They didn't say one word to me when we got home. I honestly didn't care.

They thought their son was a suicidal case. Or a nut case if you want to be blunt. They probably thought I was crazy and depressed. Especially my father.

My father was a winner. From kindergarten all the way to college. You may think I'm joking, but I'm absolutely serious. He got everything he wanted. He wanted to me follow in his footsteps. He wanted a family line of winners, no matter what circumstances it took.

I looked at my bookshelf scattered with trophies. Some coated in gold and silver. Medals hung from picture frames. I smirked at the thought of my past competitions.

Dad wasn't proud of all my trophies. He didn't like second place or even last place. He hated it with a passion. I remember when I was 10, I won third place in a relay race. He was so mad and disappointed in me, he didn't talk to me for at least 2 weeks. He would make me cry at times like those. Like anyplace after first place was just horrible. Like it wasn't good enough for him.

I felt like he didn't even care about how I felt about it. So I made sure I kept winning at everything I do. Cause I knew back then, I didn't want that happening ever again. I didn't want him looking down on me, feel ashamed of me.

But look at me now. All you see is disappointment in his eyes. I knew he wouldn't talk to me for months because of how this situation was so serious. He didn't have any kind of concern of my well being. A loser like me isn't worth his time.

I always thought of myself as his trophy. An item he could just show off. He would brag about me to his buddies and his employees or coworkers. But after what's happened, he would have nothing to talk about. Maybe it's dark of me, but I'd rather have it that way. I'm tired of being a perfectionist, or what others teenagers call 'popular'. That life isn't all how it's presented it to be. It's not always like a movie.

It was obvious he didn't care about my feelings one bit. Maybe it was the pressure I got tired of. Pressure of being the person I was being. The high expectations were too much for me. It was becoming too much, and I thought of ways of getting out of it. I resorted to the first option that popped into my head.

I overdosed on my mothers sleeping pills. They had to pump all of the pills out of stomach. I didn't remember a thing after that. I thought that the pills could put me into a deep sleep. A sleep that could wash away all the pain I had. It would have, if no one had found me on the bathroom floor.

I felt a tear come down my face. A tear I didn't even know that was coming down my face. I wiped it away. It's not often that I cry, I usually keep a poker face and move on. At one point, there comes a time when you break down. Crying and screaming, emotions all over the place.

My eyes felt like bricks. My eyelids would flutter open every now and then until I just gave up.

This left me looking at nothing but darkness. I always wondered why don't we ever see any other color. Why not blue or green. Why black.

After a while, I felt myself going into sleep.

Who knew what tomorrow could hold. It could be one of the worst days of my life. But then it could be the same ole days that were before my attempt.

Only time would tell.

I guess.

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Hey there readers. If you like the book so far, I hope you keep reading.

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