Prominent Queen est. 1995

A semi-fictional tale #byL

“You are very intelligent and kind.”

I stared blankly at the other eyes on the screen. It is not because I hate those eyes. (Of course, I have grown fond of it.) Surely I could not tell how endless terrors and self loathe screams inside me, no?

My throat went dry. I felt both cold and burning sensation roaming across my body.

‘Don’t get it wrong. Just don’t. Nobody likes having you around. Not even this one.’

I wished this one would have said things I have known forever instead, “You are crazy and there is something wrong with you. You need to be fixed, you need enormous help, and I am not that person. I can not stand you.” That would have made things easier.

I have known for so long that I do not deserve love, do not deserve anyone. I can not be trusted. I am self centered. I am weird. I am a freak.

I can not tell anyone about that, of course. Why would anyone care anyway? I know that much is true; if they are about to know what kind of person hidden underneath this layer, inside this facade,

….. they would have ran away, wishing they never knew me at all. 

“You are very kind, you are very intelligent. I really enjoy having you around.”

‘No, you don’t. You just like the idea of me.’ Those line went dead inside me. I do not understand why my usual self defense mode went numb.

So instead, I flashed a smile, being bold, partly a truth, partly a lie.

Emotion is always a complicated rush of sensation, running through my spine. That is always why I run away from them, for as long as possible, as much as my powers allow me.

I kept retelling “the world” that hating oneself will only attract people who hate one, more often than otherwise. I think it was some sort kind of my branding, the perception of person I wish others see in me.

My always go-to speech was, “If you can not love you, how can someone else will? If you only love yourself 0.00000001% , and once someone passed with mere 0.005%, suddenly you thought it is enough. It is not even 1%.”

Of course, speech will always be easier than act. Always. Always. I suck, big time, obviously. 

That’s when I heard it crystal clear, as in one of my nightmares, “You need to get help.” I wish I can kill them, but instead, I was immersed in it.

“I’ve gotta go. Talk to you soon.” The voice from the other line pulled me back to reality. So I smiled, waved.

As the screen turned blank, I pondered…. deeper… more… harder than I have always been.

Notably, the memories of loosing people, things, moments, situations that are actually mattered in my life flooded my consciousness.

I know that my conditions kept on making me loosing; the moment I was so busy hating me, the other person would had been so engrossed in telling I was being ridiculous, assuring me otherwise, loving me. Yet by the time I started to come back to them, they would have given up, getting their senses together, finally accepting the realities that there is no point in loving me. I am immovable, unchanged, damaged. 

“You need to get help.” The echo in my ears grew stronger and stronger. I tried hard to shut them out by closing my eyes. Shitty as it was, this time they persisted, longer, louder, worse.

“You need to get help. Right here. Right now. Or you will keep on loosing everything, everyone.”

The same questions repeated over and over again, though,

“What if  by getting help means they realize how broken I was?

How damaged goods I am being? How much works they have to take?

How long will it be until they are bored, starting to hate me, with every drop of their blood?”

You need to get help, right here, right now.

…. and I still remained silent, motionless, all to myself.