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home 2
Contributed by
looroll
on
Saturday, 13th November 2004 @ 07:14:37 AM in AEST
Topic:
toughstuff
|
Feeling safe and calm, I relaxed as I knew that in half an hour I would be going back to the place I called ‘hell house’. The reason I called it this was because of the pain and suffering I have had to live in for the past year or so of my life.
As the teacher walked into the room, my face lit up, this teacher was very special to me. She was the only person I felt understood me. However she could not protect me from being scared or isolated whilst I was living at home.
I had no one else to turn to as my sisters were going through the misery I too was going through. The difference between me and my sisters was that they were getting help for their problems, they were suffering, whereas I couldn’t show them any of my emotions I felt they had to look after me too much to know this pain I was feeling. I let my emotions out on myself, the reason I self harmed was because one of my friends told me this was the only way she could let her anger out, so I thought it would help me. Inside I knew I needed help, but I was told to be strong and wanted to help my sisters through the difficult time that they were having. This is why I stayed warm and safe with the teacher for as long as I could, as I knew she would ask nothing of me.
Whilst sat there I wrote a diary. In this I wrote ‘I don’t think I can sort myself out no matter how hard I try to tell myself I can and will stop cutting, its not helping I am just bottling it up. I know that I cant get over the urge to cut as every time I go into the bathroom I think about doing it, I imagine picking up the razor or the scissors and pressing it into my arm just once more for the feeling of release. Why do I want to do this? is it because I have done it for so long? But I fear for my sisters, as I don’t know if they are mentally stable to understand the way I feel. My heads a mess. I have so many possibilities in this world to move out etc, but if I moved out would it still haunt me? I want to get out I feel trapped in this nightmare. Questions for answers that I cannot answer the truth too …. ‘ How are you?’ how is anyone really, no one is always happy. It is not a question that can be answered truthfully here, I just smile and reply sweetly ‘I’m fine thank you’, but inside the heartbreak of saying it over and over again forces me to believe it until it builds up inside me and I believe it. Just words only painful words. My real identity is hidden from everyone, hidden behind an invisible mask I sit there wondering when this terrible nightmare will end. I pray and cry my tears. They never get heard or seen they just disappear into the darkness, with no meaning to them.’
As I finished the fear flooded back to me once again, the panic of knowing I had to return back to the place I once called home. The teacher could see the misery in my face but knew she could not do anything to help, she worried that this would be the day I would break free into the real world or if I would end my cursed life. Slowly the tears begun to flow down my face, as I knew the heartbreak that was to become. Slowly I walked home.
Copyright ©
looroll
... [
2004-11-13 07:14:37]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: home 2
(User Rating: 1 )
by Kindredblood_dragon on
Saturday, 13th November 2004 @ 08:13:17 AM AEST
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Beautiful write, showing an intensity to whats going on inside yourself, showing feelings pulled in many a direction, though cutting is seen by many a good way to deal with the pain, in the end, it is the cutting that will end up being your undoing, though I cant really talk as such for I have done this for many years, at 33 I still fall for the blade when times hit hard....and emotions win where none should ever reside.
You have written this story showing great strength....yet also showing vulnrabilty...this is not a weakness, it just shows that your feelings are real and not a farce.
I felt there was a message in your words, though for each person that reads this a different interpretation they will no doubt see. |
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