The horrid pain ensued, growing day by day, hour by hour,
minute by minute. There was no stopping it, it just kept on coming, bit by
bit by bit. Waves or storms or drizzle or pats, it came in all forms. Her
stained-glass mind, so intelligent, so clear, so sensitive, was being scratched
by the shrill sounds, shattered by those howling winds; its beauty was being
crushed, suppressed, destroyed. The winds of The Noise were bruising her thoughts,
controlling her actions, placing fear in her soul. It was tireless, relentless,
callous, cruel, calculating, subtly edging the poor girl on, subtly degrading
her every action, her every word, her every movement.
Day in, day out, every time they were in the same
conversation, the same lunch group, same class, same situation; casual statements
or actions were all The Noise used, but the suffering felt like its words
were punching bruises that were already there, piercing wounds that had been
created only the day before. A simple grain of sand was all The Noise would
pile on each day, but that simple grain of sand, summed up with the rest,
was becoming an almost unbearable weight to uphold. The poor girl's mental
legs were growing weary, carrying those sandbags for mile upon mile, hours
upon hours. Days turned into weeks, into months, into years. The torment continued,
incessant, and unkind. Her mind was abused, disturbed, almost damaged from
trying to endure everything for what seemed to be an eternity.
All she could do was cry when no one was looking,
dissolve into a pool of nothingness when no one else was around. She'd simply
paint a smile on her face, like the perfect porcelain doll...but that terracotta
mask would fracture a little here and a little there during each day and would
finally crack and crumble once she'd arrive home, the paint washing away
by her tears. Those tears, the horrible, wet, hot, salty, incessant tears
that she couldn't get rid of; every night she thought she'd just dry up and
blow away, but twenty-four hours later her eyes somehow found a new water
source to drain. She'd thirst for sympathy, of any kind, but was too scared
to search to find anything, anyone.
Timid, trembling, weak, it took all her strength to survive
each day, to get through any situation that dealt with The Noise. She didn't
want to even bother, she didn't want to care, but she had to, because there
was no way out. There was nothing that could be done, no one to run to, no
one that she thought would care. Her time and energy went into painting that
porcelain face every morning...then giving in and washing it away and letting
it crumble every night.
She discovered one outlet, not a ray of hope but a place
to direct her anguish, a place where she could find space to breathe, and
used it to its fullest extent. Journal entries had failed her, but this, though
different, truly helped her keep a piece of mind; it was all that she could
think to do.
She wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote.
"fake friend"
why is it so hard for you
to just sit and be my friend?
why must you carry out this hatred
until the bitter end?
was it something that i said to you
did i make you cry?
did i hurt you in anyway?
i didn't even try
...but i know i never did anything to you
yet you sit and stare me down
you think of anything to say to me
anything to make me frown
you seem to act like the perfect friend
sometimes it seems like you really care
but then, behind my back you talk;
it's reached a point i cannot bear
YOU'RE the one who made ME cry
YOU'RE the one who hurt ME
YOU'RE the one who made MY life hell;
who made me feel that i can't live safely
yet you're the one without reason
without thoughts, without shame
you're the one who's the aggressor
the one who keeps up this stupid game
why can't you just let me be?
why do you hate me so?
why is it you can't rest until you've put me down
yet hoping that i'll never know?
DO you know that i know?
do you know how much it pains?
do you know how much i suffer
and how little you really gain?
maybe i'm just bitter, yeah
maybe my heart's the one that's turned to stone
but yet i'm the one who actually FEELS, the one who's effected
the one who feels so battered and alone
you use me for your own benefit
you know i won't lash out or scream
you use me because you know you can
i just wish this were some horrible dream
i don't know what to do with you
are you my friend yet secretly foe?
do you wish for my demise?
there's so much that i don't know
what goes on in your twisted head
is only fully known by you
but what you say to others, how you act towards me
still lets a bit of that evil shine through
You see it stumble, you see it fall. You see it find
that it's at fault. You see it hesitate, you see it being proved wrong. You
see it defeated by those it cares for the most. Yet "cares" is not the word--"idolizes"?
Perhaps "unhealthily adores" would be a better description. Definitions aside,
the waves are no longer as harsh;. the winds are not as fierce. You've found
others who realize what's been done to you. There are still some stained-glass
windows left in your mind. You find that the shattered ones can be repaired.
You find that new ones can be built. Upon witnessing that conversation, it's
not as difficult to act "normal" anymore. You put less
energy into that mask because you don't have to put on so much of an act.
But you cannot let go of what it's done to you. And it's
not like it's even close to ending.
But this is such a new experience. Not revenge, you'd
hate to feel revenge. The feeling is indescribable.
And so you write some more.
"That afternoon"
you don't know how
gratifying it was
to see you pained
to see you battled
...to see you lose.
you don't know how
much i cherished that look on your face
when you were contradicted
when you were beaten
...when you were shot down.
you don't know how
happy i was
to witness you being attacked
to witness you being confronted
...to witness you have a loss of words.
you don't know how
bad i feel
for liking what i saw
for loving what i viewed
...for hoping that it'll happen again.
you don't know how
torn my mind is
with feeling satisfaction
with feeling a tinge of sympathy
...with feeling like you finally got what you deserved.
you don't know how
glorious that walk was
because you lost
because you were at fault
...because finally, someone proved you're not always right.
you don't know how
clearly it stays in my mind
that conversation i witnessed
that argument i saw
...that afternoon. i loved it.
You realize that The Noise is not as strong as it appears
to be. Your tired mental legs are put to a bit of ease. You can get rid of
some of those sandbags. The trek through each day isn't as difficult--because
you've gotten used to it or because The Noise is beginning to get tired?
You try and forget the pain you've been through and little
daggers it throws at you here and there. You submerse yourself into other
things...like your birthday party. You want it to be perfect. You want it
to be special. You use your saved energy for planning. All your friends agree
that it's a blast...But that fateful day you see The Noise in the corner.
Amongst the 40 plus people that care about you, that took a chunk of their
day to come and celebrate your life...you see it. Taking one of them aside.
Convincing them that the hours spent with you is just a waste of time.
How could--? How could it--? It hated you, fine. But
turning a friend against you?
Why?
At first you feel like crumpling into that mass of nothingness
you used to revert to. Crying. Folding up. Hiding in a corner, underneath
something, where no one will ever find you.
But then that newfound pain turns into anger. Fire. Inflamed.
Burning. Hatred. Screaming...Take that pain, take that damn pain and make
it useful.
Nothing violent. Just different thoughts. Think about
a year ago and think about now.
And then you hear a song...
Lyrics have never hit you like this before.
You know what? The lyrics are right.
Screw The Noise.
Some of the others seem to care that it is having trouble
with college. It's just spitting raw tomatoes, speaking with dying winds,
talking nonsense, as usual, but it's gathering some sympathy. Part of me assumes
that usual caring attitude...but then again, it's The Noise. The one who
made my life a living hell for so long. The one who's consumed all my time
and energy when it doesn't deserve a speck. The one who's preyed on my weaknesses.
The one who's jealous. The drama queen who's learning that it can't always
get its way...
"Still Standing"
You can't seem to understand
that I'm not as weak as you may think.
You cannot comprehend
that what you do can never get to me.
You can't conceive the fact
that your actions will never succeed.
You can't believe, for some reason,
that maybe I do have some strength.
No matter what you think,
no matter what seems to get to me,
no matter what you do,
I swear I'm going to stay strong.
Maybe it seems
that this "fragile"
exterior may crack
but deep, deep
down
my soul will never let you in.
You can lie, and cheat,
talk behind my back
and maybe I will cry...
I won't deny that.
But each lie, each stab,
each action that you take
just diminishes your energy,
so you should stop for your own sake.
[Just think about what karma's doing to you...
You already have the evidence.]
Maybe I do screw up
but nobody is perfect.
Maybe I seem vulnerable
but nobody is a wall.
Maybe I flat out
give you the chance
to drive me
to the ground,
but the more you push,
the more you'll sweat
the
more time you'll waste
trying in vain
to burn me.
You may think these words are empty,
a far cry from what I do,
but what you see
is on the outside
and deep down you know
I'm better than you
(and that knowledge is what you hate).
I never try to punch back, and I never will
You don't
deserve
my energy and my
time.
...You can't seem to understand
that I'm not as weak as you may think.
You cannot comprehend
that you will never break me.
You can't conceive the fact
that you cannot touch me.
You can't believe, for some reason,
that maybe I do have strength.
I would think
that you would know
by now
that no matter how much
you try
to hurt me
I'm
not
going
to
disappear.
I'm still
here.
I'm
still standing.
...No more broken glass. No more sand.
No more porcelain doll. I'm tired. I'm fed up. I've had
it.
That's right. The Noise is not going to win. It cannot
win. It never will.
I won't let it.
So what if it's not feeling chipper today...What can
I say?
Karma.
_____________________________________________
*lyrics used from "Unbreakable" by Michael Jackson
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