we were just kids

First attempt at spoken word. Probably failed a little.

When I was younger, the world was endless.

The skies stretched on past horizons, the grass was uncharted, the trees touched the clouds. Barriers did not apply here. We were warriors, but the Earth was a battlefield that did not herald death.

We fought against make-believe villains, all evil and no good. They were paper-thin, a dark seeping black. We, of course, were just as transparent. We were heroes, we were a bright white, because of course we'd be filled with light. Even though the world was not what we thought it was. 

When I was younger, the world was mean.

It wielded an iron fist, it tore away my father. It suspended him in this vat of mindless frustration. I didn't like him. How could I? When you're five and watching your mother cry for the first time, it shatters your Earth. All the time on the road, heading to the airport or cottage? Spent in silent exhaustion, a smile that isn't really a smile. I was young. I didn't know the full story. 

And then my mom- well, to my little-kid gaze, she fixed it. I liked my dad again and they got back together.

And then, of course, they split up a second time.

When they told us, the living room was a dead-man's zone, it was quiet and still and solemn. They cried, but my tears were not following the same footsteps. My emotions were shot, they collapsed and they slept. They slept for so long.

Some woke up early. Welcome, Anger. Welcome, Fear. Welcome, Sadness.

Some got locked away, stuck in their eternal rest. Goodbye, Happiness. Goodbye, Confidence. Goodbye, Faith.

My emotions were out of whack for so long. Sometimes, one of the slumbering ones would twitch - murmur and almost, but not quite, wake. But more often than not, Anger ruled many of my younger years.

It sat king of my feelings, it stepped on others, it took over in a Hulk-worthy explosion. It would make its displeasure known, taking me along with it. 

This, of course, was not a good thing. I saw a lady who tried far too hard to be nice. That's one of my faults, really - I am very good at seeing untruth, seeing fake things. I am very bad at seeing authentic emotions.

But, when Anger ruled as dictator, Fear still ran rampant. Authority figures? No way. Too scary. 

Sadness, though. 

Oh, Sadness.

Most children, they had Loneliness. Me? My Loneliness was taken over by Sadness. It did not walk my mind. But I had one saving grace.

When all those feelings fell asleep? Well, one woke up. Far earlier than with other kids. 

Rationality soon knocked Anger off its perch, it took over and its reign was long and gray. Long, and gray.

Rationality was my queen. And long may it be so.

But it alienated me. That kid who reminds you that you can't fly to the moon on a unicorn? Kind of a bummer. Not really fun. 

When I was younger, the world was cruel.

It did not care for fickle things, I was inconsequential.

At what age does it become psychologically scarring to be the one identifying your sister's anorexia?

Any age, is the correct answer.

Ribs went unnoticed even as they shouted through her thin skin. Milkshakes replaced with water. You could pour wine into those collarbones. You could create lakes with the gauntness of her cheeks. 

The blood was what really got me, though.

When you're a child, you don't think someone would purposely stain their skin with crimson, turn their blood from blue, take it from their veins, expose it. You don't think, and even when your damn sister is put on f-cking suicide watch, you don't think.

Such is the downfall of a kid. I was young, not stupid. I was also very, very, very good at tricking people. Not in a magician-sort of way, oh no.

No, I was good at making them think I was telling them the truth. At concealing secrets. At being able to get the right answer to a question I don't understand. 

When I was younger, the world thought I was a cosmic joke. 

I was the punchline, the hair-trigger, the nuclear missile that you're not sure is going to explode. 

I was not beautiful. I was tough because that's what life had taught me, I was dense because then people couldn't see too far inside, I was cold because warmth had never helped me. 

They don't tell you, when you wake up to your sibling long gone in the morning light, that she hadn't just forgotten her pills.

They don't tell you that she tried to slit her wrists. 

When I was younger, the world was not made for me. 

The skies seem to be held down with chains now, the grass is brown and dying, the trees just hunch over and age. 

I was raised to survive. Adaption to a situation?

Let's just say, if you're scared of spiders, I'm the one that's going to be taking them out from underneath the bathroom sink, even though I really don't like creepy-crawlies. 

I'm learning. I'm learning that you can't trust people when they lie, that adults have no idea to deal with this, that I have to wake Confidence back up or I'm not going to be here anymore. 

Yeah, I'm better. But a person's making leaves effects.  

My childhood leaves marks, it digs its claws in, it is the reason I am who I am today. 

When I was younger, the world was perfect.

Now that I'm older, the world is as riddled with bullet-holes as I am. 

But hey, I have Band-Aids, and they're being used liberally. For the first time in a long while, I can say that I'll be okay and mean it.

Yes, the grass is still dead, but rain can be beautiful and hopeful too. The air is clear, and I am not a small child anymore - but growing up doesn't have to be full of pain. My growth is beginning to get interesting, I am feeling peace with myself. My mind is quiet and dormant and satisfied.

I've given depression a black eye. I'm doing just fine, and I will be okay. I know I am. 

So yes, things have gone wrong, but I'm dealing with it. I'm smiling and laughing, and I can see the beauty in a sky polluted to the point of pulling the rug over the eyes of the stars - we cannot see them, they cannot see us. 

I can see the sky, I am okay, I am not a child anymore.

But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. 

The End

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