at-the-end-of-a-dream-blog

[at-the-end-of-a-dream-blog]

I was born

Into your arms

And you swore

You'd never

Let

Me

Fall

I grew

Almost as happy

As you,

But soon I learned

What life truly is

And I

Felt

Pain.

You never asked what was wrong,

Only said

That I had changed.

And that I should stop

And be

Who

I

Was.

I do not like her,

The happy me.

She was so ignorant

And she did not see

What you

Were truly

Doing

To

Me.

You fed me lies,

You still try to,

And now,

The real you,

It

Shines

Through.

You seem to hate me now,

You yell not only when I feel down.

You always yell,

When all I do is try to talk.

Now any time away from you,

I

Feel

Fine.

I hide from you,

That you hate.

You wish to know

Why I am this way,

But you refuse

To let me say

And be

Me.

The only thing I can be

Is what

You

Want.

Now I fear

Mistakes.

Now I fear

Failure.

Now I fear

Loud voices.

Now I fear

Speaking out loud.

Who made you

So hateful

Who made you

Ungrateful

Who made you

Hate everything

Except

What you are.

Who made you

Hate love.

Who made you

Hate everyone.

Now I am silent

Like you wished I was to be

And you hate that

Because you know

You will never

Change

Me.

[at-the-end-of-a-dream-blog]

Let me tell you a story.

There was a girl. She was a happy young lady. She was called beautiful each morning, smart at noon, and loved at night. She lived what others call a perfect life.

But life changes. To be smart, one must be curious to learn. She proved this saying right, as she began to listen much more, and started to pay attention more than she wouldn't. Her perfect life was just a curtain. She did not like it. Her parents had lied to her more than they spoke the truth. Why would they lie so much when they taught her not too?

The more she knew, the less she spoke. The less she interacted. She was horrified. She didn't want to tell. She kept her mouth shut, and soon, the happy, talkitive little girl everyone knew became silent. No one knew why.

Something terrible happened in the fourth grade. Something she did that made no one trust her, that spread rumors. She became angry. She could not diminish the feeling, but she did not want to be like her father or her mother. So she kept herself blank.

Something grew inside of her. It was always there, always a part of her, but she felt like it was...separate. It told her what to do and how to protect herself. It told her how to tell who to trust and who to cut out. It showed her where to look for the answers she needed. It became her life source. It was everything she ever did, but not her. It was like her old "imaginary" friend, always there.

Some people hate hiding behind something else. She did not mind it. She actually enjoyed it. No one could hurt the REAL her ever again. Perfect.

Her perfect life was gone then. The curtain never closed over all the horror. Her parents fought more than they got along. She stayed in her room more than she'd go outside. The thing that was inside her protected her. But it asked for something in return.

The thing inside her was not, (and still isn't) healthy. It was insane. It wanted to hurt anything it could. And if it didn't? Well, it would just hurt her. She became angrier by the minute, snapping at anyone who came near her. She was still little. Only 8 or 9. She did not understand why it was so wrong. She embraced it. It was the only thing that would listen to her.

She went into the fifth grade and made some friends. They were lovely. They never hurt her. Not then, anyway. They weren't close enough.

It wanted them to be scared. It wanted to make sure they never touched her. It hated them with a passion. That was the first time she felt something that it didn't.

She was terrified. She didn't want to fail her friends. She didn't want to fail her family. She wouldn't sleep for hours, images of death and anger flashing through her mind.

The next year came too fast. She talked only a little, keeping her defenses up, only using humor when speaking. One of her friends grew worried, but she never asked if she was okay. The girl acted too quickly. The next week, she was sent to the counslers office. It humiliated her. Angered her.

That night, she listened to it speak. She let some of the ideas wonder around in her mind, until she decided it was best to stay away from her friends. She let it speak, and found it satisfying how coldly it rejected them. She was then alone, reuniting with an old friend. She needed someone to talk to. It was not pleased, but she let it make her hate them, so it calmed.

She did not regret her actions. Not until she realised how little people she had. Her hate stayed with her forever, but she slowly let them speak to her again.

As the summer began, it became a monster. It tore at her flesh, judged what she ate, cracked each mirror, until she refused to touch a crumb of food and kept her eyes away from the mirror at all times. She felt like a failure. She hated it.

She exersiced more than she sat down. She read every book. She needed to be better. Jealousy became her fuel. She lost 3 pounds in just a day. It wasn't enough.

Her wrists became bony. Her stomach was flat. She lost sleep. Some days she didn't have the energy to move at all.

It was in control. She couldn't fight. She couldn't. Not without food. Not without friends. Not without sleep. Her eyes barely closed. Her mouth barely opened.

She was in pain. So much. She overdosed on Advil and Aspirin. Most of her nights consisted of throwing up what little she had ate. She felt like death.

One night, as she whispered good night, as she crawled under the covers and covered her head, a picture of herself flashed in her mind. Her old self. Her happy self. What would she have been if she had stayed that way?

Maybe she'd be eating. Maybe she'd sleep. Maybe she'd never have taken those pain pills. She didn't throw them up anymore. She only felt even more pain. It hissed at her. "You are a failure." Yes, she thought, I am. But maybe, being a failure is the best thing that could happen to me. Maybe I can change.

It did not like that, but it's power over her faded. It was still there, taking up the space in her head, but she ate much more, slept a couple more hours, and she became calmer.

It is still there. It is always there. She still doesn't eat enough. She still doesn't sleep enough. She still doesn't talk much. But it doesn't control her anymore. Some day she hopes it will go away forever, but for now, it will be there.