You don't always have to love them. Trust me.
We play friendly, laugh and joke, then end the day by trading insults that cut too deep. Sometimes, I hate being here. They're all so funny and they're all so close. They're all so happy and they're all so smart.
So I'm sitting, silent, dumb, boring and miserable in the corner.
And I can see it. Blood spattered walls, arms cold and limp, eyes empty and dead. Skin ripped by the cold tongue of an angry blade, and me. Chest heaving, eyes wild, a crazed smile slanted across my lips. Reveling in the glory of my work.
I'll finish it later.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
I Dislike Mirrors
Both real and "hypothetical" mirrors. I dislike them all. They are certainly innocent bystanders in all of their nefarious practices, yet the damage they wreak upon their victims can be devastating. The most frightening and awful part of mirrors is what they are used for. You look into the glass, and the objective reflection twists into a magnifying glass of personal imperfections. Everything you've ever hated about yourself, physical or otherwise, seems to glow with a fiery hatred to spite all that is good in your mind. That roll of fat, your slumping shoulders, your endlessly wagging tongue, hair that's not quite perfect, everything jumps out and tries to strangle you.
Sometimes the mirror isn't made of glass and silver. Sometimes its in a wayward comment, tucked into a funny tale. It strikes you first as humorous, then the truth of it slips from the darkness and catches you unaware, lodging itself firmly between your ribs. Sometimes, it rips further, deeper. Sometimes it simply festers, growing and growing, infecting the secret vestiges of your insecurities and letting loose a torrent of all those horrible things you feared were true about yourself.
Sometimes mirrors are frightening and painful for the lies they summon, sometimes for the truths. A friend accidentally reveals one of your greatest shortcomings, a personal flaw that you loathe beyond belief, and yet have been unable to conquer. Then it's all you can think about, and that disgust consumes you. Eating your smile and swallowing the laughter that should have followed their tale.
Then the monster comes out again and you're forced to wonder if, and how, should you kill it.
Sometimes the mirror isn't made of glass and silver. Sometimes its in a wayward comment, tucked into a funny tale. It strikes you first as humorous, then the truth of it slips from the darkness and catches you unaware, lodging itself firmly between your ribs. Sometimes, it rips further, deeper. Sometimes it simply festers, growing and growing, infecting the secret vestiges of your insecurities and letting loose a torrent of all those horrible things you feared were true about yourself.
Sometimes mirrors are frightening and painful for the lies they summon, sometimes for the truths. A friend accidentally reveals one of your greatest shortcomings, a personal flaw that you loathe beyond belief, and yet have been unable to conquer. Then it's all you can think about, and that disgust consumes you. Eating your smile and swallowing the laughter that should have followed their tale.
Then the monster comes out again and you're forced to wonder if, and how, should you kill it.
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