Friday, July 16, 2010

Anythingzombie's Week 10 Entry: Darkest Hour


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anythingzombie's Choice: Both

Darkest Hour

There hadn't been a time when I thought I'd be safe or happy. I lived in a constant stupor; everything appeared insignificant and irrelevant to my current state of being. The only thing that mattered at this time of day was my bed and whether or not I'd wake up in the morning.

I prayed to God that I wouldn't, but I was never a religious boy to begin with.

It wasn't up to me to decide whether or not I had the life I wanted, because in the end I'd say I didn't. The problem was that I wasn't the only person with a shitty life in the world, no matter how much it felt like it at times. I wanted to say my life was ordinary, but it wasn't. Thousands of people had a family like mine: the drunks and the fighters, the melodramatics and the instigators, the overly rebellious teens and the naughty children. I came from a fucked up family, but the world is rather small, and I'm not the only one.

I wanted so much to believe in all this, but I just couldn't. I felt as if I were the only person who could understand what it's like to be in my shoes. I acted as if I were the only teenager in the world who lived anything but an extraordinary life. I hated it, immensely so. I knew what was wrong, and I knew how to fix it, but a part of me didn't want to let go of the misery and the anguish. I enjoyed the self-pity doubts and pain. I enjoyed these masochistic tendencies.
The worst part was that I couldn't really track them down from where they came. I could see the pain in my eyes, and I could feel it in my heart. I could taste it on my tongue and feel it tremble out of my finger tips. I was rigged with it, but I couldn't seem to know where it all originated from.

The only logical place was my mind, where dark things lay and boil. But that's not where I felt them; I felt nothing there. I had to get these feelings away from me—the only solution was to get away from what they were driven by.

I won't deny that I was upset from leaving my home. How could I not be? That's the place where I ate and slept and on finer occasions laughed. It was home. I had left it, for what? A suitcase full of old clothes and pocket change? The cold, hard cement that threatened to cause me harm by complete strangers? The agonizing aches from my stomach? This wasn't the life I had wanted, but I knew if I wanted to get better, I had to get away.

The worst thing about running away was the fact that my family didn't really care. Jane did, at first. But she wasn't dealing with her own fucked up life as it was. The only thing she did care about was pleasing her egotistical boyfriend who promised to love her forever. She has no idea that he's cheating on her with her best friend, Heidi. I was sworn to secrecy. If I were to tell, I'd probably be a lot worse than I am now.

It killed me to keep that in.

Mom and Dad were so busy with their own feuding that I never came across their incoherent, drunk thoughts.

Drunk was a lifestyle for them. I wondered how they managed to even work. Jane said that they had an inner kick-start in the brain that told them when to be an actual parent, but that only lasted for so long. Jane usually took care of me. But I'd always told her I didn't need anybody.

I'd found refuge away from civilization. The circumstances weren't much better, though. The nights were cold and the days were exhausting. I lay at night, paranoid of the night wilderness that echoes around me. Therefore, I don't get enough sleep, causing my eyes to droop and my body to move slowly.

There's no money for food anymore, so I scavenge for edible things around me. I dared to kill an animal, but I couldn't get the strength I needed.

I'm dying. The thoughts are impending and unwanted, but they're there.

The famine and exhaustion have seemed to overwhelmed my body, leaving me distraught and paralyzed to the very ground I sat on. Birds chirped and bugs crawled on rocks next to me, but I wasn't moving for anything.

I hear them. I hear my name.

I have the urge to call out, to answer.

I can't find my voice.

I can't find my body.

I had thought my life was meaningless from the beginning.

But even though it wasn't like a fairytale, I realize now what it was.

It's too late.

I'm already gone.