#onlythetruth

Don't we all just want to feel connected.

    Tabs on my tongue and I’ll never know reality. They say that after five the government declares you insane by court of law. I don’t know if that’s true; to me, tripping is making the choice to ignore a reality that’s treated you wrongly, which implies reasoning. What is saner than reason? Reason is the basis of sanity, so how can someone be insane for using such logic.

    A flash of color dabs across my vision; I slip into my escape. I need escape from my thoughts, my memories---what a curse it is to have such an impeccable mind. I remember everything: the bad, the good, the strange. My entire life is a walking paradox, the bittersweet, the fucked-up beautiful. Even in this now, I cannot escape it. The patterns dance on my walk as rain leaks inside. My fan creaks whispering to me and neon lights stream down. This bliss and beauty came from the most fucked up source I could find.

    I remember his hands on me. I cannot escape them. It replays over and over.

    And over.

    “Shhh… you’ll wake your sister up.”

    “No. No. No. I don’t want this.”

    “Shh…”

“Please,” I whimpered. His arms moved to hold mine down, and then it happened. I went slack and limp. Once it’s gone you can’t take it back; once it’s in you can never go back. My fate was sealed. I quietened. Tears flowed gently. I went slack, praying to fall into a never-ending sleep.

    I surrendered my control.

    I gave up.

    I hate myself for that.

    It’s all too much to hate oneself. It turns you further and further away from the path you’re meant to stay on.

    My eyes dart to ceiling. I hear noise upstairs. They’re screaming. My mom and dad, they’re yelling in a ferocity I’m familiar with, but I can sense it is about me again. I cover my ears, but the sound keeps coming. I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble. It’s all my fault. I try to concentrate on what they’re saying. It only speeds the noise, drugs whirling it around in my head, and I’m useless to interpret it.

    “You stupid cunt!” My father had echoed that in my very same room. “You ungrateful, lying, conniving, little bitch!” He lunged at me, wrapping his hands around my throat.

    In a moment, I was on the ground, his face above mine. Gasping, I looked into his eyes, but found no mercy, no father, no love. I saw everything I needed to know about myself. My vision wobbled and swam. The pressure of his fingers dug into the back of my neck.

    I reach back and feel for the bruises.

    I remember waking up later and hiding under the small electronic piano by my wooden dresser drawers. The door was gone, having been smashed into a million electric pieces earlier on. My huddled position under the piano was my only defense. I had to act normal, or it’d only serve to enrage him further.

    “You see this! Why do you bring me to this point? Why?!?”

    My mouth was immobilized by fear.

    “You know what I’m thinking about right now…. Justifiable homicide,” I saw him resurfacing. “If you went into my room tonight and killed me, you could say you did so because you were in fear of your life.”

    I was.

    “Come out from under there.”

    My entire figure shook, I wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. I was the most instinctual and inhuman I’ve been in my entire life. I couldn’t leave.

    “Come out, Samantha.”

    “COME OUT!”

    “No, no, no, no.” I mewled. “No.” I cried.

    I’m crying now. I return to my spot, under that fated piano. I’m haunted. I remember everything. I’m worthless. I’m insignificant. I’m beyond help. I’m beyond reason. The sky dances for me and I smile. What a beautiful chaos, what a beautifully fucked-up universe I’ve made for myself and it’s all mine.

    I’m laughing and crying and laughing. I can’t die; I still have enough moral sense to never allow that of myself.

    My elder sister comes in blazing with hair jumping around.

    “What the FUCK are you on?”

    I just laugh. 

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