When I was 14 I decided to leave my family. Not physically, but in heart. I believe it was a normal human response though. It wasn’t until two years later, when my brother moved off to college, and my sister fell head over heals for a guy. And I knew everything was different. Something in me shattered. I had left them, and they were gone. Atleast that’s how I felt. They had always been there. Always. Then gone.
Where they were previously then were whispers, as if memories were calling me. I kept seeing them in a field calling me and calling me…and this warm feeling, like syrup, would pour down from my head…except it didn’t comfort, but left me hollow. Everything green, everything alive was a curse. Because they weren’t there. It’s as if I killed them. Like they were somewhere I couldn’t be, and I just wanted nothing else other than to be there.
I expressed these feelings to my brother, and he tried to understand, but he can’t. I don’t think my sister wants to. All my family seem…odd. It’s as if we’re all in this droned out state, with all real emotion replaced with psychotic mockups. Now I’m detached, from everyone, except for my little sister. She’s the only reason I speak with anyone at all. She’s the only reason I’m fighting for recovery… Everyone else are just walking manakins as far as I’m concerned. Really psychotic, over-enthused manakins.
It’s not just them though. It’s also the friends I used to have. As if people like to study my moves, my language. Psycho-analyze the hell out of everything I do… I feel low and dull in admitting I just wish I knew if “it were me or them”. Have I really cursed myself? Maybe I chose this? Maybe I wanted to be alone? Tortured? I know I wanted to be alone, now more than ever, but not like this.
Years later, now 24, I’ve suppressed the schizo-warped guilt near to 100%, but it’s manifested in other ways, just as bad, or worse. Or maybe it’s just sz… who knows. I want a donut.