“There is a crack in everything, that's how the lights get in.”
It's like I'm running and running, but never get anywhere. Like one of those typical nightmares, that's just what you're trying to avoid. And in some way, that might be exactly what I'm doing.
The darkness surrounds me, and all I see, is more of it. Not even a faint light in the distance, only blackness all around. Where I'm left, beauty is a rare phenomenon, and peace unimaginable. Maybe that's what it's like, being damned. Maybe that's what hell's like. An endless darkness, surrounded by black. Pain in every particle in the air. If hell is different from this, I can't imagine it any worse. I might be wrong. It's very possible that I am. But I am convinced, that if it gets any worse than this, it'll kill anything it touches. Just like me.
Everything I touch just falls apart.
It feels like I'm trapped in a small, dark, straight-walled box, with no holes, no cracks, nothing. Like it'll never break, never shatter, and as the first thing ever, not fall apart when I touch it. 'Cause I touch it all the time, hammer on the walls, screaming, beating even harder every time nothing happens.
That's what my life feels like. That's what it feels like, when I wake up in the morning, sick of sleeping, and too tired to get out of bed. Fight my way to the bathroom, and usually vomit from some bad dream.
Brush my teeth, desperate to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth, and replace it with peppermint, and take a shower. That usually wakes me up, but it doesn't make anything look brighter, or just slightly easier.
When I'm done, I find some clothes, without really seeing it, just pick something out coincidentally, and wear it all day. And then I go to school. Not that I learn anything, 'cause I don't hear a word of what the teachers are saying, and they're starting to get that whatever assignment they put in front of me, I won't do it. Not because I don't want to, but because it's just not possible for me, to make my mind focus for that long.
Of course they've tried to talk to me. So have my parents. Talk sense into my head, converse with me, yell at me. For the record, none of it works, and I haven't really heard it either.
I spend the breaks starring emptily into the air, and the classes doing the same. At lunch I find an empty table, and mark it as mine. Nobody sits with me, because my aura of total depression is too much for them to take. And I get it. How could I blame them, when I'm not even able to handle it myself?
Anyway, that's how it used to be. Before I changed school. At the new one, it didn't actually get better. I was still unconscious most of the time, a dead girl walking. But then at lunch, a boy started sitting with me. He didn't say much in the beginning. Greeted, ate and told me goodbye. But eventually, I started longing for his hello, and fearing his goodbye. I started wanting him close. And that was when I said my first full sentence for months.
“Why do you always sit with me?”
And totally out of every kind of sense, he had answered: “I like your aura.”
My aura was pure pain, and the surprise of his words struck me. And a moment later, I was struck by another shock. Surprise was a feeling. I felt surprised. Numbness was crawling back, leaving just a small part of me. Just enough for me, to know I was still alive, and not really a walking dead.
Every day from then, we conversed at lunch. Just a few words in the beginning, but soon I began to trust him, and rely on him. Believe in him. So we talked. I found out we had a lot in common. A year before, he had suffered from great depression. It almost killed him, literally.
So when he saw me, and my misery, he was drawn to me, so that he could see it he could help me. And he did. He made a crack in the box. He broke it, made it shatter.
The light got in. The clean, pure, beautiful sunlight, that brought peace to my mind. And though, being alone, still cuts through me like ice, I know I can call him any time, and he'll make the sun shine again.
He's my sort of peace. His name is Mike