What do I want? It all feels like a distant dream, or maybe a foggy memory n the back of my mind. I haven’t thought in so long, perhaps because it hurts so. Well, let’s start from the beginning. My name is Marie, it’s not the one I was born with, but it’s the name for me.
I was born twenty-five years ago in a small hospital. Much of my childhood is fuzzy, I remember some good, but much bad. I was a crybaby and a scaredy cat. I had to figure much for my own, I still do. People often assume I’m stupid or incompetent, but I just need to understand things my way, and sometimes it takes me a little more time.
I remember I grew up very afraid, I had to follow the rules, a lot of times I didn’t know how, but I had to. If I didn’t it would mean pain. I hated pain, I couldn’t understand why it kept happening, broken glass, a flipped table, heavy weight on me, can’t breathe, the feeling of my brain physically shaking from impact more times than I can count.
Shame, so much shame and guilt. I don’t remember what I did, but I remember guilt so vividly, tears welling, drowning.
I remember friends and loneliness. So alone, even though I played. I remember their glances, the words behind my back. I remember pretending I didn’t see, I didn’t hear, push it all back, forget about it.
I wanted to play, I was a kid, I wanted to play. When grown ups took me aside, to a hidden place, and did what they did, I wanted to play, I thought it was a game. When the other kids chased me through the streets like a lynch mob, I thought I will die, tears in my eyes, I just wanted to play, I couldn’t play anymore.
Why did they do that?
Where I went every day, when I sat at my desk, why did they look at me like that? Why did they whisper?
The teachers, why did they say those things? Am I wrong? I must be wrong. I must be broken.
I decided to wear my armor, I must be broken alone, they mustn’t see. Shame shame shame.
I sat in silence. Maybe I had a friend, but I couldn’t remove the armor, I kept hurting them, and they were gone.
I thought I later found friends, but it was the same, same glances, same words.
Don’t feel sorry for me, please don’t feel sorry for me, please don’t pity me.
I ran away, again and again I ran and ran and ran.
Even those who meant well, I ran.
It kept welling and welling, I ran.
I hurt myself, the blade felt sweet, I no longer feared pain.
I wanted them to be scared, I wanted them all to be afraid. What they made me do, the years they stole. So I became a monster , and I scared them all, I screamed and I broke, I failed, I ran and I hit.
Yet, I was alone, still alone. I hurt, every night, I hurt. I don’t want to be alone, but I must be free. I wish someone was there, someone said it’s okay.
Unloved, unseen, I roam this world, a black void.
Sometimes I still crave it, yet, it seems so unbearable. Sometimes I wish to burn like the sun, to flood the world with my soul, to make it pitch black like me.
I often find solace in the night, in the distant lights. Distance, only in distance I can be free. My mask mine alone. In solitude my soul free. To be another face in the crowd, to never be known.
Yet, sometimes I still yearn for that voice, to say it’s okay.
I firmly believe this is who I am, my soul cannot be like them anymore. I don’t regret it, I find beauty in what I am, not quite human, not quite a monster, but something in between. Yet…
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