Why does crying always hurt worse than anything else?
It was a question she'd asked herself many times, and to this day, she'd never come up a sufficient answer. Whoever said crying helped was either a fool or an idiot. It just made everything tighten up inside and twist and turn and hurt even more.
Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she was wrong on the inside somehow, some defective THING that was trying to pass herself off as human, to others - and to herself.
She'd always tried to be perfect. Never for herself though. Always for THEM. For her father, the man who had put a gun to his own head and used that to convince her to do something. For her grandmother, who couldn't keep a syllable spoken in confidence a secret if the fate of the world depended on it. But also for her beloved mother, who had always loved her no matter, but probably wouldn't if she ever knew all her secrets. And for her mother's parents, who could always make her life better.
And so for them, she pretended her life was better than it was. She pretended to be happy and carefree and all the good things that she wasn't, that she didn't REMEMBER how to be. Oh, there were moments when she was, guarded moments when she let people past the walls she'd erected around her heart and let them get close enough to touch her.
She never admitted to herself or to any of those she was trying to please that she couldn't let people get close. She'd tried it before, and she'd been burned by it. She'd had three best friends once, and one by one, they had left her behind with no explanation, no words to cling to. Even curses would have been something for her to remember, instead of just silence.
She has two friends that she has claimed for many years. They're two of the few people she has let inside her barriers. They left her once too, but they came back. She knows she shouldn't have, but she welcomed them with open arms. They know most of her secrets, but not all of them. Never all of them. She now has two other friends who live in the same city as her and who seem to want to get close to her if she'll let them, but she can't. She feels too exposed as it is now.
But that's just the people around her. She knows she has friends all across the world, thanks to that wonderful invention called the internet. She has a friend in Texas who thinks of her as an older sister. This is one of the reasons she's stopped herself on more than one occasion. She has a friend in Canada who made her cry and swear
never to try again. That's the main reason she stopped tonight - or rather the reason she did not cut down her arm hard enough to draw blood, not hard enough even to leave a white pressure trail.
But the real reason she stopped THIS time was the same reason THIS arguement - this familial dispute - started: a person a state away from her, a mere five hours drive away, who means more to her than anyone else has in a long, long time. A person she is not only willing to, but WANTS to tell all her secrets to. Someone she could quite
But now the chances of that kind of perfection is over. The stuff of this argument was that she could not go to the person she wanted to go to. And that was all she wanted to do for this holiday season. It was the one thing she had planned around, even asking off from the two jobs she had taken mostly to keep herself out of the house. She was trying her hardest in school, so that she would feel like she had acheived something when she left to go up there. But now...
When she turned fifteen, she was certain she'd have died of happiness before her eighteenth birthday. When she turned eighteen, she was coming to the conclusion it wasn't happiness that would kill her before she turned twenty-one. And now here she is, twenty-one years old. She's been twenty-one since February 2001. She now KNOWS she won't live to see twenty-two. Not unless something changes drastically in the next few months.
But she is also pretty sure that things will never change enough to save her.
And one night she won't stop the knife from cutting.
18 November 2001
Eternal SailorM (Angel-chan)