The Breaking Point | Hela B.
Back in the house my father had gone insane, his eyebrows were furrowed and his black eyes bore deep, leaving a dent in my own eyes. I could have used violence on him though, considering the way he looked insane. But I knew that it was a waste of my energy and time to hit him. Does that make sense? Think of it this way, just because I know that I have enough strength to knock out every idiotwho ever bothered me does not mean that I am going to go around and knock out each one, for god’s sake my hands would be as tired as hell.
Sometimes I hate myself for not using violence. Disappointed, yes, that is what I am. Truth is I really hate violence when it comes down to that moment where some crazy guy punches you, I certainly cannot bring myself to hit them back. Don’t know why, I just can’t. It’’s this feeling telling me that I do not want to inflict pain on another person. This is wrong by the way. Because I always imagine that if some boy in high school punched me, I would punch him twice more. But in reality I’d really have him hit me one thousand times than me laying a finger on him. Supposedly I am messed up and not normal. But really what is normal if you think about it?
Nothing is the correct answer.
Everyone wants to be like me, why? I am about as perfect as a moth. Trying to imitate a butterfly from afar, but rather when exposed is nothing but an insect. Who am I really? The person everybody wants me to be or the boy I am on the inside. I am no angel and never will be. Because when I look in the mirror I do not see a halo but, rather I see a tired sixteen year old boy, tired from being someone he is not. That boy would be me.
So here I am going somewhere; somewhere where the nightmares go away and dreams are closer than ever. Where I am away from everything, I just hate the noise, the noise of nothing. I hate how I can'tune out of everything, because when I do and I am alone, I am scared. And all I want to do is curl up in a ball and wish everything would make some noise, any noise. A cry, a shout, a plea for help, a cheer laugh, a whisper. Anything at all.
I bet everyone has their doubts about life just like I do. I think everyone else is not real. I know it sounds crazy but it’s what I think. Can’t help it. I feel like I really am the only person with feelings, everyone else’s are just, fake. I just cannot accept the fact that I have any similarities with someone else. Just like some twins not wanting to be like the other. I really don’t want to be like anyone else in the world. I want to be different, I know I am selfish for wanting that, but really wouldn’t everyone else? I am constantly waiting for that moment where God will tell me that I am special, that I have a purpose rather than sightseeing on this earth. And I hope that I am the one with physics senses and all that stuff.
But let’s be rational, that probably will not happen. There’s this one thing that bugs the hell out of me-when someone says they know what I am thinking. I know it probably does not seem like such a bother but to me it is. I cannot stand it when someone says that they know what I am thinking. Mostly because they probably do not. Really my mind works so crazily, there are no lunch breaks for any of the employees in it. I am never thinking what they think. Never. And I hate it when they think I am.
I am crazy. I believe that if you truly know you are crazy just admit it, it really is not that bad. The whole ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’, that is just a bunch of lies. I never cry when hit; never. If I do it is not because I am in pain, it is because I am upset over the reason or person who hit me, that they would really do that. But words, they are like hail, simple rain at first but slowly there is a coldness and left behind is pure solid hate, showering on us like there is no tomorrow. Words can send a man over the edge. Pain, well murders you. Words, you murder yourself. My father is the word ring leader, with an endless dictionary of cusses and sayings that make you want to kill yourself. Yes suicide can be caused because of small words, words others think don’t hurt. But once again people never know what others are really thinking. Living life as it goes and planning death in your heads. It’s all just a mystery. No one will ever understand the pain of someone else, don’t bother, it’s impossible. We all have a breaking point and the monster allows its whispers and clings for more but in the end, some of us can put the broken pieces back together quicker than others and realize that it is time for the monster to go. And the monster will go. It will go back into a hole but it will wait. Wait until you break again.
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