For a long time, I had been afraid of judgement.
I’ve been scared of the rude remarks said behind my back, the statements and facts about me that everyone but me could see.
As time wore on, my resiliency and tough skin thinned out because of criticism: criticism that scrapped against my skin and tore into my flesh. No one could hear my cry of agony because I kept it quiet. For those few years, I felt like a wild beast encased in this black tunnel that I had created myself. I felt useless – I mean, everyone accused me of being fake, pathetic, and a attention, excuse my language, whore – so why shouldn’t I feel this way? In those days I struggled to get out of bed, I looked at myself as this empty shell that took the form of a human. I was so deprived of life on the inside that all I could hear was silence. Silence so loud it hurt, silence that ripped apart every one of my molecules each useless breath I took.
I remember putting on this mask every morning just to show the world that I was okay. I would plaster a smile on my face and smile. Smile so my friends and family wouldn’t be concerned for me, for I didn’t want
to burden anyone with my endless suffering. But as the dark fell upon the land and each twinkling burning ball of flame came up, I tore my mask from my face with such fierceness, I resembled a animal that had been starved for days. I remember pouring out every sickening thought in the form of water and covering up my muffled screams. Those days my mind was like a collision of stars, I was so blinded by everyone else’s thoughts and opinions, I couldn’t find space for my own. Those nights felt infinite and morning felt light-years away. As I struggled, I couldn’t find peace within myself. I couldn’t decide what was more horrendous: facing the day with a mask that hid so much or facing the demons that consumed me at night.
After a continuous cycle of this pain, I grew numb. I grew numb to anything and everything. I wanted to stop in time, enjoy the company of nothingness and plaster my existence on the wall like a painting. I was beyond the point of pain, I was beyond all emotions. It was around this time that I decided to pick up a pen and paper, I wrote: I am happy. Those three words were the biggest lie I had ever told. I wanted to write the words because I wanted to feel the pen touch paper and physically express something that I wanted so bad. I wanted to see what it would feel like to stop and feel those feelings once again. To be flooded with happiness, swallowed by pleasures instead of this annoying hum in place of my feelings. After I wrote the words, I felt a vault sprout open in me. I touched the tip of the pen to the paper once more and I felt a jolt of electricity, much like the one that brought Victor Frankenstein’s monster to life, and I too, felt alive.
I now devote a big portion of my life to words. Words are beauty and grace, they are everything humans are not. Words can be restricted at times but I think that they are a way to pour out every inch of your soul. With the help of words I’m able to express all the feelings that are bottled up inside me, I can release my tsunami of feelings onto the page and be freed. With the help of words, I have come to realize that the only person that can make you feel what you feel is you, everyone else’s opinions are just extra. At the end of the day it’s what you know, that you have, inside yourself that matters.
Picture source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/71776187788962531/