Battered, Tattered, and Bullied

Chapter 2: Kill the Glass, It's Affecting Me

If only life could be that easy, you wouldn't have to feel ten-thousand emotions at the same time. You would feel bliss and nothing else whatsoever. I stepped in front of the layout of my room. I took a glimpse at my bookcase, I had read all those books. They were all so happy. Why couldn't my life be a fairytale?

My bed, was perfectly made, creases could not be perceived within the cotton sheets. The lavender covers were soothing, but the throw pillows just looked like heavy baggage, every time I took a step. The desk that I had was like vanilla, smooth and delicious. Only I could spot the wood breaking, or the mess on top of it. My fluffy eggshell chair, was squeaky only when I moved it, but I could hear the squeaks in the back of my mind constantly. The world of my room was against me. Posters adorned the room, of the people I could never strive to be. All the people, that had a name for themselves, were something and I was nothing.

The glass was half-empty. Who cares about the content of the glass? Just shatter it into smithereens. Walk on top of the glass as if it didn't hurt, swallow a freshly sharpened sword, bang your toe on the edge of a coffee table, because that wouldn't hurt nearly as much as mental torture would.

I sat down on my bed, realizing how many flaws I had. I loved to sing, but I was so bad at it. I loved to dance, but I had two left feet. I loved to draw, but the pictures never came out right. I loved sports, but I couldn't run fast enough ever. I had friends, but I never kept them. I was never enough.

No matter how much I put myself down, I always was reading and singing to music. I grabbed my laptop and started to play some music. The first song that I put on was "Battle Scars"

I started to sing. "These battle scars, don't look like their faded," I couldn't hold on much longer.

"Why am I trying? I sound like a dying mule anyway. But I'm totally sane. Because no one in their right mind talks to themselves outloud. Maybe in their head, but I talk to myself aloud. Like the mental person that I am." I stated, not knowing the whole meaning behind my words.

"I don't think you're mental," I say, my voice mocking heavily laced with irony. "I know you're mental. In fact, you belong in a mental asylum. No one would ever want to visit you. Not even Kade, no matter how ingenious to the fact, he is."

Walls crumbled, crashing onto the floor with a erupting noise. Dark humor engulfing me from the remains of the cement. My heart was beating erratically, pounding at the taste of fear. Fear made me fall. It was the cliff and I leaped. I leaped right into the dark, consuming waters of pain and suffering. A lone tear, was making its way down my cheek, alone as I'll ever be.

I struck my hands across my face, cold to touch. I was being selfish. How could I care about myself so deeply? I didn't matter, but mom, dad, Hailey, Hana, and Kade, did. If I was so greedy, how would that affect them? Stupid Terra, always thinking about yourself. It wasn't fair, I hated life, but for them, I had to put my chin up, and wipe away any bad emotions or at least hide them. Just smile, smiling makes you happy. Be happy, nothing else. I had to suffocate them, suffocate them to the point where they can't breath. Where I can't breath, but I could learn to live without air, for them. If I didn't, I would destroy everything in my path, ruining all cheerful things in my way. I had to train myself to be normal. I made a vow to myself. That I would twist my ring on my pinky finger, every time I found something decent in the world. I would be optimistic. I would count how many times I twisted it in a day. I will train myself, I would train myself and nothing could stop me.

So being the normal, sane, person I am, I started my homework. Taking a calming breath in, I grasped the strap of my backpack and started doing the work of terror and its minions. Math was up first, crumbling me to the core. I knew how to do it, I just hated it. Think positively Terra. Math will get you a good job in the future. I had to write a story for English, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was always my favorite subject though, but it was like the teachers always despised me. I never knew why. I moved on, my thoughts rambling with horrible insults. My handwriting wasn't good enough either. I was so messy, I couldn't convey myself to clean up. Cleaning washed away the dirt, but the bacteria was always there, multiplying in the shadows. The shadows of my mind. I pushed aside these thoughts and kept doing mindless Math. Who needs Math when writing is your passion?