Artwork by me
My fists clench tightly. I can feel my fingernails digging into my skin. My pulse is visible on my wrist. My body is writhing with anger, frustration and hatred. I look at the room I’m stood in. The white walls glaring back at me, in their silent, empty way. It feels like I’m in a box, trapped with my thoughts and my thoughts only. That’s why I’m frustrated. I don’t understand what other people want from me. I can’t hear their thoughts, just mine, can’t hear their opinion, only mine. At the moment, my opinion is full of hatred and I can’t see clearly. The walls are making my vision hazy because it’s so bright, despite the lack of windows. I feel the anxiety bubbling up inside my chest, so I scream it all out. My fists balling up even tighter. I yell at the walls, cry all my feelings out but it just echoes louder, resonates, bounces right back at me. It feels like I’ve been slapped. The tears fall and the words try to hold on but I soon realise that I’m just shouting at myself. Telling myself how much I hate it, hate me. Insulting myself because I’m the one who I’m really mad at, the one who I’m aiming the insults at. The words keep coming, keep echoing and torturing me. Soon, I am a mess on the floor, but it feels good. To be finally relieved of something that’s been bottled up inside relaxes the soul. Now I’m able to live with me in my truest and most honest form. I breathe. My fists unclench.
I was feeling frustrated, so I vented it all out on paper… ( ^ _ ^;)
Don’t worry, I don’t really hate myself. It just flowed like that…
~ The World is Quiet Here ~