[work in progress, and no. I am not describing myself or anyone i know , merely writing from an interesting perspective. Enjoy.]
I saw the heavy blue of my veins through the the translucent skin covering my wrist, slowly traced my middle finger over it. It singed like static that i could feel pumped through my heart, that clumsy old thing in my chest. It almost tickled, my wrist. Virgin territory. I smashed my thumb on to the passages of blood flowing to and from my hand, the airless pressure crushing my wrist, my hand feeling numb and heavy. I held myself like this, as if i was branding myself, and felt the pulse punch through my veins the same way you hear it in your ears when you hold your breath underwater for too long. I was suffocating my own hand, i could've mutilated it if i wanted to. I needed to make sure i was still real, still alive, a person with a light inside of them, whatever that means. As i sat choking my left hand i suddenly saw myself, knees tucked up to my chest, neck contorting itself as close to the kneecaps as it can get, angry at my damn hand on the bathroom floor. The back of my neck threatening to snap my spine if i bent any harder, any more beautifully on the bathroom floor of one of my school's piss stained bathrooms. Everywhere i put my hand was a wet puddle of piss, i didn't care, i rejoiced in it, savored the moisture until it was dry and sticky. Apparently i was a monster, a disgusting cave dweller who will never be handsome. This is how they treated me, the pigs at my school i mean. The things they had made me do, the lies my parents told me as a kid. You are just the cutest little thing aren't you? One day, Joseph, one day you will grow up and be the smartest, most handsome boy in the world! Maybe i should kill myself, if that's the only goal in life: being smart and handsome. I'm definitely not handsome, my fat nose like a witches' extended from the droopy eyelids and pudgy cheeks that i call home. My chin is small, futile, weak. It exaggerates the ever pleasant double chin by trying to sink into my face towards my nose, straight up like a damn elevator shaft or something. I can't even rock the emo look, my orange hair: "Ginger!" they shout. And they laugh. But it's not funny.
Apparently i'm not too smart either, but maybe if i could stop thinking about how unlawfully ugly i was when someone looks into my lazy eye i'd have some kind of intelligence, or personality for that matter. Just be yourself, they try to tell me, but when i look into the mirror i see a freak, and what's worse is that i don't even have some disability or hinderance to justify the way i look, just me. I'm an eye sore, that's pretty clear. I asked a girl out in seventh grade and she literally just stared at me and then started crying, like bawling her damn eyes out when she came back to her senses. A week later it got out that the only boy she could get to ask her out was the hunchback of notre dame, i didn't mean to offend her or anything. So if i am an eyesore, and i should just simply be myself, then just what exactly does anyone expect of me? The facts are these, people simply do not enjoy being around me, they are repulsed by me as if they might catch a little of my ugly by hanging around me, shit, i got plenty of it to share.
I wasn't so bad for a little while, or so i thought. I used to creatively disguise myself, i'd wear capes and Abraham Lincoln hats to school and act like a pirate or a prince or an artist, but they called that one "multiple personality disorder" Ms. johnson please, your son is too ugly to express himself, have you considered medication? Or perhaps plastic surgery? Or the electric chair? That ended when i was in seventh grade as well, apparently once the hormones kick in and the pimples invade the open real estate on your face you're not cute anymore. I was fortunate in that sense, i've never had to much of a pimple problem. Guess i dodged a real bullet there. It'd sure be inconvenient to be looked down on by society for a couple years because of how you look. Phew.
