Being A Balloon

No one, absolutely no one, deserves to pop.

Ten years ago, I remember being at my grandmother’s house doing crafts. My favorite thing to do there was blowing up all kinds of balloons. My sisters and cousins would sit around and watch in amazement at the balloons being filled with air. I’d try to impress them by adding a little bit more air, pushing it to it’s limitation. That’s when I learned that not a lot of air can fit inside a balloon. Eventually it will pop. Now I, along with many others, am a balloon. I never want to open up and let the pressure of that air out. Keeping everything inside is definitely my tragic flaw and most likely will lead to my downfall, or possibly my rise.

On the good note, at least I don’t complain to anyone. No one likes a downer, and I don’t wish to be one. Every day I will force a smile on my face and pretend everything is alright, even though I know it’s not. I will walk through the hallway and stop anyone in my way that’s upset, because they want to talk to someone. No, they need to talk someone. So, it’s not necessarily a bad flaw to have. I, the balloon, will take their air away and put it in myself so they don’t have to feel the pressure because absolutely no one deserves to feel that way. I would much rather have everyone else’s air so they don’t have it.

Don’t get me wrong. It is good, but the balloons, like myself, dread waking up every day for the reason that no one takes our air away. In fact, they add air to it. Our teachers that call us stupid, or that jerk that throws trash at us like we’re nothing, just add onto it. It sucks to not have my dad call me some day, or some week, or some month, just some time, or at all. Oh, and it wouldn’t hurt to have my mom say “thank you” some time instead of calling me worthless, and regretting she had me at all. So the air just keeps building up inside, and it feels like there is no way to let it go, than to pop. I know I need to open up, I just can’t. How can I trust anyone if they’d go tell someone? My own youth pastor told my mom about me being upset. All she did was send me away for a week, and made me take pills, like I’m just something you should send away and let drugs fix. Like I’m a problem and shouldn’t even be here.

More air will keep building up because there are so many things I regret, and refuse to let go, like not going to my grandfather’s funeral, not seeing my dad. The thing I mostly regret is disappointing my friend that to this day no longer lives because he popped. He hung himself last year because no one cared enough to take his air away, and I feel terrible. I should have let his air out, but I was too focused on my own. Now there is nothing I can do to save him, because he’s gone. He has already popped, and it’s too late. It sometimes makes me regret being here on Earth at all. You see, millions of people feel this way, and all I want to do is take their air away. I just want to do more. It feels like no one really understands why I do it. The reason I do what I do, is because I don’t want anyone else to pop, but the problem is there’s no room in my balloon. I don’t know how to make more space.

Sometimes, I’ll let some “air” leak out through my eyes, but it’s never enough It’s better than a year ago when it would usually bleed out through my arms every night. I told my best friend that, and all she could say was “Why would you do that? You’re such an idiot,”, not “I’m sorry,” or “It will be alright.” Even a simple little hug from her would be nice. Turns out that she felt the same way, and she asked me how to do it. When I refused to answer her, she experimented herself. She’d slit her wrist day after day until there was no more room. Then she’d start making scars on her legs and her stomach, but it just was never enough. It would never release all of the air, until she went to a counselor and they did it for her by giving her drugs. I don’t want drugs. It’s all building up, all of the years of pain and abuse. I feel like there’s no way to turn. On the right path is drugs, on the left path I pop. So I guess I’m stuck. If I leave this all unchecked, I will surely be hurt. I can’t keep it inside much longer. I will pop if I don’t let my air out.

I don’t think anyone has wronged me. I pray for those teachers who call me stupid, and that jerk that thinks I’m trash. I hope I don’t end up to be a popped balloon, and I hope someone will take my air away without pills or sending me away. I have admitted to myself that keeping it inside is wrong. It has to be wrong. I will find a way to open up in a healthier way. If I don’t, well I don’t know. All I know is that I need space to take more air away. I just need less air to take in more. No matter how much suffering I went through, I don’t want to let go of those memories, but unless I let go, I can’t move forward. Somehow, I’m kind of letting it go now. So in this way, I opened up to you. Not opening up is my flaw, but even though it is a flaw, it has good intentions.


The End

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