There were so many times that I just wanted to curl up and end everything. So many moments that I just wanted to cry until I passed out from dehydration, as dramatic as that may be. It was just too tiring; the want and the need for acceptance. Constantly shaping myself into the exact person I was expected to be. It was crippling. I would be quiet or loud. Intelligent or incompetent. Loving or vengeful. There was never a compromise; because I was that girl who would be what you want, when you want. I was the girl with no true opinions, I would merely reiterate yours.
Perhaps there was something within me that wanted to change, but at the same time, I didn’t want to change. I feared being myself because I feared rejection. I was terrified. Terrified of walking to lessons alone, having lunch at a table with people scared to sit by me, spending weekend after weekend after weekend alone. I. Was. Terrified.
I was never like this before. I was never the girl to conform to your desires. But 16 years by myself made me change that. Although, it is perhaps sadder than I am making it appear, because I wasn’t alone for the majority of the time as I was surrounded by people whom I believed truly loved me for me. But I, like many other lonely souls, pathetically believed it. Somehow I had convinced myself that I, Ariella Morgan, was good enough, And boy was I wrong.
All of a sudden I was alone and the rumours began. But what the people around me thought of me, paled in comparison to what I thought of myself. Because it was from then that I lost it. I cried and cried, hoping that would solve something. I wish I was onlooking on this girl from afar, the one sat in front of her oversized mirror, eyes puffy from crying and her face dark from mascara pouring down. Then I became silent, I would hardly utter a word, you would never believe it now.
I wish people knew me before. I was once happy, I smiled; because now I can’t look in the mirror without breaking down and crying because all I feel is a deathly inferiority. All I feel is that I’ll never be enough. I can’t even console myself- nothing I can say, nothing I can do. I cannot even aid myself through this lifetime of hurt. I can admit now that I’m fighting inner demons which are tearing me apart; a mere shell of me remains, I’ve even lost my heart. This is the tale of my torture, it’s pretty twisted and even I’m confused. Because the blame lies in no-one except myself. I look in this stupid, shockingly clean mirror and i just think, ‘What do I get for this?’. Is this all there is? Is there truly nothing for me. But this globe is cruel, it won’t give you what’s “deserved”.
Would you believe I spend sleepless nights, crying in my bed? I just lay there and shield my soul from the monsters invading my head. That sounds worse than I intended, because I’m not crazy. Although that line defining sanity, is so far gone it’s become a dot.
I just wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be what they needed, because I needed them to need me. Honesty, I’m sick of being fake, and I’m sick of being me; though I don’t know what’s me anymore because it’s been so long. So long since I’ve truly smiled or laughed, so long since I’ve done what I wanted. Because I haven’t been Ariella for a while. I’m just a reflection of you. Because would you like me as much if I did what I wanted to do?
That’s all it is with me though, ‘was’ and ‘-ed’. The past is where I live, and down there it’s just me. And it’s sad down here too, as I bittersweetly weep because although my body’s living, my soul is ultimately defeat.***
So, I wrote this short story based on a poem I wrote a few weeks ago, so I'll just add that in too...
I wish I was onlooking
On this girl from afar.
This one inhaling shaky breaths,
Her lips slightly ajar.
Soft smiles grace her features,
Maybe a tear escapes her eye.
When she sees happy people and couples
Walking on by.
Maybe once she had someone.
These memories evade my thoughts.
After all she's frequently forgotten,
Because her efforts were for naught.
I wish people knew her before,
When she was happy and smiled.
I wish she could look in the mirror
Without breaking down as she cried.
I wish I could console her,
Provide her with soothing, soft words.
But not even I could aid her,
Through this lifetime of hurt.
She is fighting inner demons
And they are tearing her apart.
Only a shell of her remains
And it is breaking my heart.
This is the tale of a young girls torture.
One so broken and abused.
But the blame lies not in her mother, brother, uncle or a friend.
Nor a psycho, a lover or a stranger met in bed.
The blame lies in her views and thoughts on herself.
As she looks in the mirror and thinks,
'Where is my wealth.'
Surely she's entitled to something
After all she endures.
But this world is cruel,
It doesn't give you what is yours.
This girl spent too many sleepless nights
Crying in her bed.
Shielding her soul
From the monsters invading her head.
Don't get me wrong,
Crazy is something she's not.
But that line defining sanity
Is so far gone its become a dot.
This is a girl
I wish I could see distantly.
But that is near impossible;
This girl is me.
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