If you were me, you would hate yourself too. You would see why I have problems releasing the past. You would see why I’m not an outdoor person nor an indoor person, but in fact, a person who traps themselves in a room to avoid public conflict. To avoid them. Life is all one big routine. Ask any student, “Hey! How’s school!?” and they would say excitedly, “Great! It’s nearly over!” But the truth is, it isn’t the end. It’s never the end. Once school is over, another thing walks up onto your doorstep, committing itself to your life. I’m not a player, but merely, an observer. An observer…of life.
Well, I guess it isn’t all bad. They told us to, “Enjoy youth! It never lasts!”, but that was before they piled our lives with rules and books. Life is like a bicycle. You go around and around and around. A cycle of life. Once you reach university, your friends will fade away. New friends will come, but you will only find that they are mirror images of your old friends. They will fade away also. That’s why I’ve only came to trust the shadows on the wall and my reflection in the mirror.
There’s times when my eyes go all lenses flare on me, like those dramatic movies where the camera tilts to the sun deliberately. Then I go in a daze. Many people have tried to help me in the past, but I don’t understand them. There’s times when I don’t feel as if I belong on Earth and my origin lies far back to another planet. A planet unlike here. My parents were always perfect, charming. I was probably an accident. Sometimes accidents are the best things made, but I know that I’m not one of them. If you were me, you would understand why I don’t like both genders. They say you can like one or even both and not none, but if that’s so, then what’s wrong with me? Sometimes I find myself talking to myself. I get engaged in full conversation, as if I’m talking to an actual person. At least I listen to myself with no interruption.
If you looked at an X-ray of my chest, you would find a heart ripped into a thousand pieces, much like paper going through a shredder, but much smaller and more pieces. Each piece for the amount of people who broke my trust and heart. You would see my bones all broken, snapped like twigs and my eyes are as dark as button filled with hatred and long-term depression. You would see that I have no soul after all I’ve been through and no brain for trusting them. And I have been through a lot.
Before I tell you all of this, why I began to have hatred against humanity, I have to know I can trust you. You can’t tell anyone about this! Not even a single person. Because, it’s not like you can help me. It’s not like you can save me. The chances are low. Not a single drop in the rain can make me feel better about myself. About the trickery, the trust issues, the bullying. So you just have to face the facts that lie before you. I don’t need your help, nor do I want your help. You can’t save me.
My life is one big puzzle. I’m hard to figure out. When I’m sad or when I’m happy, I guess you’ll never know how I’m really feeling. That’s because I keep it inside. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. Because that won’t cheer me up, all it’ll do is make me feel worse. Like a charity-case. I’m complicated.
The only reason I’m alive is because I believe I can prove them wrong. I believe that if I show them one thing I’m capable of, they will like me. They will tolerate me and accept me. That time feels like it will never come, but I believe that someday they will accept me for who I really am. I’m counting down the days till I can, but until then, I continue to believe that I’m hopeless and useless and I can’t do anything right. But deep down, I get the feeling that, that sometimes, just sometimes…they’re right.
I don’t remember much about my childhood. When I was eight, I was told I had been in a coma for a long time; I had been beaten up brutally by bullies. They were going to turn me off at eleven months, but luckily, I had woken up in time. I had intense surgery, no one thought I’d make it, but I survived it all. I knew I had to get them back. As soon as I arrived back at school, I asked the prettiest girl out. I asked her out near her mother which was a mistake. She took off screaming and crying to her mother, “Mommy! ‘It’ asked me out!” It. I always knew I wasn’t made for love. I knew I didn’t belong on this world. That was one of the earliest signs I received about the matter. I found it so hard after that, the rejection was brutal, the surgery had gone well, and my new face was more handsome than my old one. But I was destined to be alone.
