Sometimes the worst place you can be is in your own head.
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Through bleary eyes, I watched as my father beat me senseless, yet again, while my mother and sister stood aside sneering at my limp form.
How pathetic.
Don’t they have better things to do with they’re lives? Like ending malnutrition for poor children? Or speaking up about deforestation?
I get it. I get that I'm unneeded.
Unwanted.
Unloved.
I get that I’m useless!
I get that I’m a waste of space.
I get that I was only kept in the household for my parents’ images.
I get that I’m weak.
Pathetic.
And I get it, I only bring misfortune.
I get it.
I’m a monster too, aren’t I?
I killed him. The only one who ever looked at me with compassion in their eyes.
I killed him.
He died because of me.
I’m a monster.
I hate myself.
Little by little, I lost consciousness, falling into the harsh rhythm of fists ramming into my bruised ribs and bottles of soju being broken over my head.
I’d lost count of the amount of burns I had across my skin, from my father’s burning cigarettes. I’d lost count of the scars littered across my back from all the glass shards.
I’d lost count of the little scars lining the inside of my wrists.
The pain no longer burned.
It no longer stung and screamed. It no longer ached in agony.
I couldn’t feel it anymore.
I was empty.
Detached.
The brunt force slamming my head into the floor no longer threw me into endless tears.
Why should I keep living if I feel nothing but emptiness? I asked myself.
Why am I still here?
Because I was foolish.
Foolish for thinking good things will ever come my way. For keeping my hopes up, only to get them crushed.
I closed my eyes, letting the noise fade into the background and relaxed my tense muscles. My consciousness wandered further into the back of my head as the blackness enveloped me.
Peace.
Quiet.
I let the darkness swallow me whole.
I was ready this time. Ready to give up. Ready to let my troubles go. Ready to sleep eternally.
Forever.
…...But, of course, things wouldn’t work out the way I wanted to.
Panting, I collapsed in an empty aisle of the superstore.
Why all of a sudden?
Why did I remember that when I promised myself to forget?
My heart pounded loudly, racing in fear. Cold sweat broke out across my clammy skin as I huffed, trying to breathe.
The floor spun beneath me, the shelves closing in on both sides. Dizzying anxiety shot through my veins. My face flushed red as heat went up to my head.
I was hot and cold at the same time. My chest hurt as I whimpered, curling in on myself, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of painful memories from my terrifying past.
I shook violently. Why do the shelves seem to be coming closer? The floor was closing up around me. I felt trapped.
Cornered.
Afraid.
I clawed at my skin, trying to rip the heavy sensation off of me, but it wasn’t working. My hands came away, my fingernails coated in a light layer of fresh blood.
My neck and arms stung from the new scratches.
It felt like someone was sitting on my chest, preventing air from reaching my lungs. I coughed weakly, trembling against the cold tile floor.
Terror-induced adrenaline shot through my body, keeping me awake and in pain. My flying heartbeat echoed in my ears. Tears leaked out of my eyes as I, once again, lived through the agonizing memories of my past.
All the swearing.
The insults.
The yelling.
The disgusted sneers.
The pain.
The hate.
The feeling of giving up.
The feeling of having no one on your side. Of being completely and utterly alone.
Darkness fuzzed out the edges of my vision as I tried in vain to collect myself and pull myself out of this panic. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this.
Knees trembling violently, I shakily reached for the shelf nearby, and tried to pull myself up.
Sweat coated my hands, and they slipped, sending me toppling to the harshly cold floor again, accompanied with the clangs and clatters of the shelf’s items hitting the ground.
The last of my adrenaline ran out, and I went limp against the floor, my heart slowing at an alarming rate. My breathing became heavier, and my skin felt hot against the floor. The blackness around my sight spread, dark spots floating before my eyes.
I closed them.
And fell…
I fell deeper into the depths of my mind, my thoughts unending.
I was sinking into everything and nothing at the same time. It felt like I was drowning, unable to breathe, getting further and further away from the surface until i slowly started to black out-
“—-isung?”
“Wher—re—ou?”
Panic surged through my mind and I shot up, quickly attempting to collect the things I knocked down earlier.
I can’t let them see me like this.
The jars and cans slipped from my weak, trembling arms and clanked against the ground, making a loud noise, rolling away from me.
“Jisung?” A voice sounded, a few aisles over.
Frustration and anxiety flooded my brain as I repeatedly tried to grab the cans through my blurry tears, most of them rolling further away.
Angrily, I swiped the tears away and placed more things back on the shelf, not caring to be gentle. I crawled over to a can on my right, my fingers brushing against the side of it, sending it rolling across the aisle.
Fuck.
Wanting to scream, I slumped against the shelf and let out a frustrated noise, hitting myself over and over on the head.
The sound of the rolling can abruptly stopped as footsteps echoed at the end of the aisle.
“Jisung! There you are! We were looking all over for- for you….” Woojin trailed off, seeing the messy and distraught states of the shelves, as well as myself.
“...Jisung?” He reached out to me, gently, taking my face into his hands, scanning me over. “You’re so pale… your eyes are red! Were you crying? I-is that blood on you?”
I jerked back harshly, out of his reach, and quickly turned around, pretending to pick up the scattered cans. “What are you talking about? I'm completely fine!” I laughed nervously, trying to hide the light tremble in my voice.
“—you’re flushed, and why are you so sweaty? I know you ran, but you’re still trained for work, even though it’s not much. Did something happen?” Woojin rattled on. Min looked on from the side nervously, and slightly concerned.
“I’m fine! I’m fine. Nothing happened.” I said loudly, placing more cans in their places. “Everything’s okay, don’t be silly. What would happen in a public superstore like this?”
Woojin didn’t look convinced.
“...Um, why are there cans on the floor…?” Min-dude hesitantly spoke up.
“No reason…. I wasn’t looking where I was going and ran into the shelf.” I lied, not meeting their eyes.
“You sure you didn’t cry?” Woojin asked, eyebrows raised. “How are you going to explain the wet marks on your cheeks and those puffy red eyes of yours? Not to mention, your face is burning up, but your hands are ice cold, and sweaty as fuck. Your pulse is also extremely fast, and a bit irregular. And the blood…”
I mentally cursed. “I’m still a little out of shape because of what happened at the job, and it hurt, okay? My eyes teared up a little, and I was getting a little nauseous, that’s all.” I tugged down the sleeves of the hoodie to cover the fresh scratches… as well as the old scars.
Lying wasn’t hard for me. I had no guilty conscience.
Woojin gave me another unconvinced look, he’s always been perceptive, while Min-dude looked confused.
“I won’t pry… but, what job are you guys talking about?”
“Delivery,” more lies easily came out of my mouth, “My motorcycle broke down last night, and I had to run in the cold to deliver something, in case I got fired. I ended up with a fever and Woojin took me back to his house, since mine was too far.”
“Oh, I see,” Min-dude said, understanding, “I hope you get better soon.”
“Thanks,” I fake smiled. “You have what you need, right? I don't think we need the bandages anymore, so let’s just head back.” I said, taking their wrists and dragging them to the checkouts, leaving no room for argument. “We can head back after this.”
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so we have opened up an Instagram account for Jisung. Please check it out..... The user name is han.jisung_xx