She opens her eyes to a new day, still groggy with sleep but knowing that the day will hold what nearly every day before it held; Nothing. She slips into her comforting shade of black and slicks on her eyeliner, her signature heart drawn with acute precision on her cheek bone below the corner of her eye. She goes about her morning perfunctorily, her mind elsewhere. But what she's thinking of, even she's not sure, for her mind rushes too fast for her to keep up or sort it all out.
She wants to scream and cry. She wants to bruise and scar herself. She wants all the pain and suffering and confusion to stop. She's so tired of all this uncertainty. Nowhere to go, no one to help, no way to get anywhere. Surrounded by people, she's all alone. bile rises up in her throat and her head throbs, her heart beating erratically and making each breath harder than the last. Like a child, she reaches out timidly, hoping someone will see her and know what to do. But those who see cannot help and others just pass her by.
Perhaps its the mask. Maybe if she took off the mask they would see everything's wrong. But what are the consequences of that? Yelling? Institutions? Guilt trips? how can she lay burdens on others, when she knows the pain of the cross she carries herself? Smiles and laughter and sweet words like vomit pour from her. The mask tells lies. Everything is just fine. And she wants so bad for at least the boy she loves to know. But when she tries to explain, there's nothing he can say. He doesn't understand and knows not how to help her. Can she be helped? So she just shuts it all away. When she's in his arms, she tries to focus on just being close to him, not having to worry about anything. But nothing stops her mind from racing.
She's killing herself, slowly but surely. If not for her own religious upbringing instilled fear of hell for those who take their own lives, she'd be long gone. Nothing, she says, is worth this pain. There is nothing out there left for her. And she cries, and she remembers, and she cant stand to keep breathing. But she has no choice. So she plays her part and tries to keep herself together in front of others. She knows the consequences for the things she wants, and she knows that they'd only do more bad than good. With things as bad as they are now, why would she want to endure even more?
And just thinking about how much she hurts and how bad she feels makes her feel worse because she feels as though she's being nothing but a whiny bitch. There are so many people out there who have it worse than her. Why should her problems matter? Well, they don't. And so she's going to lock them up in Pandora's box, and God have mercy if that box ever be truly opened.
In a world of so much pain and cruelty, so much misunderstanding and uncertainty, she's lost and has no idea where she's even supposed to be.
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