In just a few seconds, I managed to fall in love with that man. I managed to understand his pain better than I understood mine. I managed to tell my story, without fear. I managed to look him in the eye without hesitation. During our "date", I realized that I wasn't the only one who was suffering. In other circumstances, I would have tried to give him a chance, and I'm sure we could have built something out of all that pain. Maybe we could have a place of our own, separated from the rest and safe from suffering, but all that binds us and will manage to bind us from now on is death.2
I was the coward.
He saves people like me. Too bad he couldn't do that for me. And for that I thank him...
It all started one morning, as always I had done my routine: I woke up, tried to eat something (I generally had a problem with eating right after I woke up), got ready as fast as I could and left from home. As a habit - which some considered dangerous, considering the route I was taking to high school - I had started listening to music in headphones, with the volume at maximum. It was a kind of liberation, I felt good that I was passing by those people who had nothing else to do but take care of me. It was nice to be able to ignore them and move on, although I wondered what else they had to say at that moment. I had found solace in various things, such as music.
I spent the following hours listening to the teachers, every question whose answer I knew, I preferred not to raise my hand and pretend to be ignorant. Even though my heart was racing as soon as I realized my answer was correct. I listened to the praise addressed to some colleagues, and I endured the looks of the others, who conveyed nothing but disappointment to me. In four years I had managed to "mutilate" my subconscious in a big way. This achievement had been possible because of past memories and a lost childhood, lived in solitude and restrictions. The climax! When I was little I had done so many things, where now I couldn't even think. But I was just a silly little girl with an undeveloped mind but a big heart. I grew up and, well, the brain developed and the heart locked itself in its own prison of ice.
The part where I talk about how "popular" I was and how the kids my age were sweet to me should have come. But I prefer to stop, although this brief moment of reminiscence caught me in other thoughts. Moving on, the disappointed teachers and me who did nothing but memorize their faces and hurt myself with their help. Exactly, I felt like crying at the simple fact that I was considered an ignorant girl and that despite the fact that I always was I was paying attention and perceiving ideas. My state of mind, unfortunately, beat my brain. My spirit, my soul, did not agree with affirmation or any other step that might have given me an edge over others. I was listening to the voices in my head and we were going forward.
I avoided talking about problems in high school as much as possible. That place was full of people who, at the first opportunity, would have stuck the knife in your wound and run away. So I had to continue my role as an ignorant being. I listened to music in the bank and occasionally fell asleep. The four hours of that day had unfolded in this way. So that I don't forget! I had heard some colleagues talking about me. They thought the music in the headphones was on, so they hadn't bothered to go elsewhere. But even without headphones, they would have hurt me. Their criticism woke up faster than the bear did after a hard winter.
- God, did you see her? I don't understand why she's still going to high school if she's good for nothing.
That was the spark that made me get up from my seat, grab my things and leave. I found myself being the good fairy that day and pleasing my dear colleagues. I had a drawing for the last hour and I really didn't want to stay any longer. When I made sure that the "mutilation" wouldn't leave a shred of who I was, I gave up every hobby that managed to get me out of the mood. Among them was drawing. No one understood my decisions. I didn't understand them!
I cursed Thursday every chance I got. The reason? Simple, I was going to have a "session". Ever since my weirdness started to show, my parents got me a psychologist. As if I needed one! Anyway, Mrs. Smith was too old to have one. the job as before. But I looked satisfied, when I went to her I looked cured of everything. I was the "normal child".+
The truth is that, at first, I was also curious why this was happening to me? That Baba didn't explain it to me, so I held a session with another, much better psychologist. That's when I found out I was suffering from anxiety.
That day ended up arranging my life badly.
Now I'm right in front of the "cursed" place, the Golden Gate Bridge, here the end began.
I look at the bridge with the same cold expression. All the screams and memories flood my mind. My fascinations and desires are too dangerous. But how can I miss my fantasies! Every day I heard the popular misses telling their dreams about the bad boy, who would drive them around and get into their pants after three or four tears. The guys who would walk down the street with them, tattooed from head to toe. With flashes in the ears and enviable muscles. And, of course, the boys came after them! They saved them, after with a slap, love, tears, danger, high school absences, dream life and separation. And this is a small piece of the story!
So many wishes for princesses who had nothing to do. If they had been put in a car, which was going over 150 per hour, they would most likely have screamed non-stop. Own experience! I was on a field trip with the class. Canada had its faults too, among them a dangerous neighborhood and rich boys. Out of a momentary — and forced — madness, we had escaped from the hotel that hosted us and went to that place, where it was supposed that a boy's cousin would compete.
The scene taken from the movies: many cars, whose names I do not know; well built boys with faces. One by one, my colleagues had stuck to one by one. Night fell and the race had begun. I had managed to make friends with a guy. More precisely, the cousin of that colleague, it seems that he knew me from the stories of his relative, who did not get me out of the weirdness. That had made him come closer to me.
- You're a freak.
- And you a moron. Unfortunately for you, I can handle myself.
The guy was having a lot of fun at my expense, but I was also answering him. He was a "bad boy" and I wasn't going to be the nerd in the story. After my curiosity, and more insistence, I got into his car. If I was going to die, it wasn't a big deal. If the guy... Michael, as if losing was something shameful. Tall, thin, with his hands covered in tattoos and dressed in black, he pulled the lapel to the girls and showed them the "nerd" he was going to participate with.
Yes, it was a crazy race, where all I was hoping for was to get out of that car faster or into the next tree. In the end, it was nothing like the books; some girls started crying, some were throwing up, some couldn't stand. Only the "nerd" was able to leave as soon as she escaped. Don't think that Derek... or Michael... didn't look for me. He did, he hoped that "we" really were a book and I to jump into his arms. But it wasn't like that, if I had to find my end, I didn't want to do it with him. I wasn't into relationships, in fact I hated them. That's because in my nightmares I was happy next to my first and last love, of course. It was not meant to be, what more can I say!
Love... hmm... I was unfulfilled in love. A nurse, exactly, that's what I'm saying! A nurse in love with the wrong person, a fake man, who turned out not to be what he seemed. Someone out there made sure I didn't suffer from one. And since then I didn't want a relationship anymore, because, paradoxically, all the boys I liked ended up with another girl.4
But she was better alone, right? Maybe that's why I chose death. I missed out on the "dangerous life" those girls dreamed of. I missed out on a major drama. But then again, this wasn't a book, and I wasn't a good storyteller. All I did was make up the past because I I had never liked beginnings, but endings.
I missed my whole life, but it was a choice, not something pulled from the clouds. I let people down, but they also let me down. Why should I be the one with wings... and not the one with horns? I let go of anything that made me happy, and that's no drama. This is the story of someone who put hatred before everything else. And by hate, I don't mean those around you, but hate towards yourself. A simple unknown, who had chosen how to live, how to suffer and whom to love.
Exact! You had nothing to ask of me, my choice. My senses. However, I did not destroy myself physically, only mentally.
And it all ended when it started to feel good.
Me... a stubborn one, who hid many events meant to destroy me.
He... he was innocent. Now I see him crying, but I can't do anything. His tears aid my destruction even now.
Way off topic, haven't I? Does this make me mad, or frustrated? But beyond death what else matters?
am i boring you Pull up a chair and let me tell you how the end began. One more thing please... don't look me in the eye. I'm not crying, but I've never been able to look anyone in the eye and I don't want this "discussion" to end with my dramatic departure.
Let's start... the Golden Gate Bridge, me and my grandmother. Simple so far, right? A happy picture, let's continue. I was around ten years old and let's say I was a little more normal. In fact, at that time I was confined between four walls and I was finding work by myself, I was at the beginning of the antisocial path. Decent, secluded, what could be better? I loved my grandmother and did not go beyond her word, she was present 24/7 in my life. In time she was the only one who had noticed how I was becoming withdrawn and suffocating, so she thought - kind as she was - that on her birthday we should take a long walk to detach me from loneliness. Paradoxically, I was born on the same day as her, so I celebrated two events in one day. Our birthdays. I could say three, considering what happened after...
She told me about her childhood when we were walking and about all the adventures she used to do. That amuses me. That was when I saw the Golden Gate for the first time. I found it fascinating, unfortunately the grandmother had started to have heart attacks. He had problems like that, and it scared me. I didn't want to lose her, she was my universe.
He made mistakes before, but who doesn't? I really wonder what he thinks of me now? I'm digressing from the topic again!
The stings, the Golden Gate Bridge, the sickness and the attraction I felt towards that place. He began to tell me about the bridge, when it was built, who made the sketches and many details that I still remember, but for which I could not find a purpose. Cars were passing by, it was summer, the sun was shining, and I approached the edge of the bridge.
Then my grandmother warned me to be careful. He was afraid of many things, I looked at the water and for a few moments I felt the desire to move forward, although I was moving towards the void. I wasn't crazy, I had a strong pressure in my chest. I had been alone too much, it seemed to me that that exit had another purpose, totally different from the one my grandmother had seen. To see people, other children playing, to leave the house that I used to leave only for school and a few purchases at the store across the street. You see, grandma's house was somewhere outside the city, and that made it separate from the rest. Our neighbors were old women, abandoned by their children and grandchildren, all they were waiting for was the man with the scythe. Well, at least that was what they were saying.
For me, walking downtown was just like a trip. When my parents picked me up and I went to their apartment, I just felt weird and couldn't wait to get back to my isolation. They didn't have much time for me, busy with work or having the eternal words: Children should take care of their toys.5
" But you promised me we'd go to the park!"
" Shay, understand us!" We can't, but next week we will.
That's what they promised every weekend I spent with them. I was in tears back at grandma's. She understood that their visits hurt me and that they did not approach me correctly, but she no longer had the strength to tell them what to do. Especially since she was afraid that she might take me away from her, her daughter—my mother—could do that. She had been disobedient as a teenager and kept it that way until now. She wanted to "break away" from her grandmother and be independent. When I was born, nine months later she had another child. My sister was not the same as me, she was exactly the child they wanted. that's what they pushed me away from. I was the boring one, who would have killed their "popularity".2
Screamed. But you know what's beautiful? That now they want me back by their side, they want to see my smile, even though I wasn't smiling, they want to hear my laugh, even if I hadn't laughed face to face with them. They actually want to keep up appearances as good people. Maybe I also wanted my sister's attention and their love, but I was content with notoriety. It's interesting to see that after you die, people understand your true worth.
Shay... a strange name for a strange girl? I personally liked names like: Maraiah, Emma, Eveline. We can't all be complacent.+
And we deviate from the topic... wait! You just looked me in the eye! Stop hiding, do you want to see if I'm crying or if I'm lying? Now why are you silent?
Disappear! I told you I don't want you to look me in the eye!