Unwell

The Wasted Youth

to polly because she deserves, like, a thousand dedications because of her fabness.

The Wasted Youth

"You’re too young to know what real pain is," they tell her with their index finger pointed out. She watches the faceless figures judge her, as her insides threaten to turn inside out. It roars and it roars, summoning the vile thoughts to gather in her mind. They used to huddle the shadows if it, barely seen or heard, but they leak out and taint everything in sight now.

            The number of the soulless creatures forming in the grey room doubled in size. With only one ray of sunlight casting light throughout the room, it was almost as if the moment wasn't really happen. Almost, the word haunts her - almost isn’t going to cut it this time. This was all happening and she shouldn't waste a precious breathe foolishly telling herself it wasn't. All of it is real - it always will be, no matter how much it resembles a nightmare.

            "You just turned 15, so you have no idea what real trouble you'll face in the world. You haven't even experienced anything yet, Child." She watches as they draw closer to her, their hot breathe scaling her skin. As the flesh begins to turn a bright pink color, she grabs her widening hips for dear life. It was the only time the rolls could ever help her and they didn’t do a thing for her fears. If only she could bring herself to eat her panic, but she knew it was no use trying to bite down on anything.  

            She doesn’t ever want to die, not really, but sometimes she wonders if it’ll be for the best if she did. She could only take so much of the shadows before the threats of jumping off the deep end became reality. Was she already thrashing at the jagged shore line of rock bottom? She didn’t know anymore, quite honestly. All she knew was that she hates everyone and everything her eyes laid sight on.

            “You’re just overacting,” they taunt with wicked smiles that must have been painted on by the Devil himself.

            She couldn’t control when the panic attacks hit her, no more could she control the change in weather. The more the temperature dropped outside the window, the more her body shook in the frigid nightmare that held her body together.  She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe when the syrupy mood hit her by surprise. It was the minutes like these that made her wonder if she going to finally die. She was crazy, she supposes, that’s why the anxiety was her best friend each and every day. It’ll never her side.

            "Just deal with it," they shrug without a second glance at her breaking soul.

            How could you just get over an illness in your head with a snap of the fingers? You can't just wake up one day and your brain is squeaky clean of the holes that have taunted you for so long. You can't just get out of bed every day without forcing yourself to do the simple action; not a single thought present, just simply a natural instinct. The cloud of thunder doesn't stop hovering over you, suffocating you in the constant downpour of acid beliefs. How can you just not care about all the rips and tears in the fabric of life? The small little struggles in life seem to take over her mind and it never would let a smile grace her lips. Everyone tells her that’s it just all in her and she knows that, but she doesn’t how to make it foreclose its hold on her.

            She doesn’t know how to be happy.

i don't even know what i'm doing here, but oh well. i don't have high hopes for this little project, for the post art they're unedited and done in hast feel sessions. it wasn't all that bad, right?