Note: Thought who have, and those who are going to share this post, I’d really like to know your names, and why you did it. Now to the post-
I didn’t do anything wrong….
She clutched the pillow tightly in her hands, crushing printed flowers of blue between her fingers until the covers were crinkled firm as if they had been frozen. Her fingers pained from the times she had endlessly clutched the hem of her skirt, the edge of the table or a sheet of paper in a desperate effort to control her feelings, and more importantly her words. As long as she was hurting her fingers driving her nails into something, she was keeping her mouth shut. Because that was what everyone had advised her to do, without exception.
There was no-one around right now though. She didn’t need to clutch her knuckles white, or bite her tongue… She didn’t need to hold it in. Different people have different ways of expressing anger. While most people turned red and uncontrollably violent, she just became very thickly terse, like a leather ball stitched with lead and clenched her jaw till her cheeks threatened to tear and bleed. What this extreme pressure also caused was a tightening of her chest, and with the shortage of air and the already rising pressure in her thinking organ, sometimes tears would be pushed over the edge.
She felt them coming now. But this only made her angrier. When the others saw tears, they thought they had won, that they had broken her, that she was nothing more than just another piece of their narcissistic games that they could proudly display on their mantle of lifetime achievement. It made her so much more angry than before. They didn’t even recognize pure scathing, true hatred when it was staring them in their face. Instead, they dared to mock her.
Feeling maddening rage in her heart, spreading outward, fleeing and lashing all inside her body, she pulled her elbows above her head and flinging her arms forward, threw the pillow across the room. The pillow knocked a pencil stand off the table and shuffled some papers on her desk before settling down against the wall, whimpering yet deadly silent. She looked at it and imagined a billion profound thoughts verbalizing which would get her in serious trouble.
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
But since when had that mattered.
But this is unfair….
She drew her breath in. It had been almost two hours since the last relapse now, and she was frightened to have another now. In public, with next to no privacy and a thousand strangers passing her ready with their scrutinizing eye, she knew very well that this would be a bad place for her to get angry. Don’t think about it, she chastised herself. They told me to let it pass, let it pass for now, they’re thinking farther and better, so just stop. Please, she tried desperately to divert her thoughts as flashes of everyone’s faces and snippets of odd conversations started flickering across her mind. No, no, I don’t want to care! Please, she begged her conscience to build a wall in her soul to block the hurt away. I don’t want to feel it anymore.
This was no time to be human, when humanity had given up on her case.
The metro came to a stop, and she fled down the stairs as soon as the doors opened. She hoped her father would understand as he trailed behind her, not as fast as her, but close enough to find her in the crowd. Blow it off, she told herself. It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. Everyone said so.
She wanted to think about everything that had happened. She wanted to tell everyone in the world that she had done nothing. But everyone who cared about her had hugged her and told her she needed to buy time. For now, all she needed to do was accept what was happening and not let it weigh her down. Even ants drown when the current is quick. She was lucky that she had some people holding out leaves for her to hop on, safe from the water.
At this point it didn’t even matter what had happened.
The only thing that was on everyone’s mind was to keep her afloat while perspectives could be rearranged, because it would serve no one’s benefit if she drive herself grey and weary in a day.
She dug her feet deep inside her belles, pressed the ground like she could leap off it with her next thrust and tried to release her internal whirlwind in something other than tears. She was just trying to survive the day. She was just trying to keep it from herself.
Some days are crooked in such infinite proportions that boiling one’s peace for even as long as fourteen hours doesn’t prepare one for the next day’s ordeal. Hence, as she walked down the last twenty steps to the great white doors of her chosen torture chamber, she clutched the hem of her skirt again and ignored her finger when it ached, reminding herself that pain was just as worthless in this world as the truth. She walked in, knowing extremely well that she was right and that it did not matter.
When a familiar feeling of helplessness began to unfurl and creep up her legs, making her step hesitant, she stomped off an imaginary monster, fought back hot tears and pushed herself into the tyrant’s lair.
As far as everyone was concerned, she hadn’t suffered the incident. And there was no reason for her to show them otherwise.