The room was larger than it should have been. Much larger. Looking around, I see many things that trigger memories. Memories that burn my mind, memories that I would cut out if I were able. Memories...
I walk into the room towards the bed, the silver bed with a little stuffed bear. Identical to my own bear, but this one had silver fur, and eyes that where as black as pitch with small specks of.. light, in its eyes. This room of silver, filling my mind with a strength and peace that is seldom found. The peacefulness and serenity fill me, driving many memories from my recollection that caused me pain.
Pain. The word stabs into my mind, a spike of nothing driven deep into my core. My fists clench and my eyes shut tight, the strength of the pain overwhelming my senses. My body shakes and I struggle against myself to regain control, to keep my sanity and direct the pain into a more focused outlet. I rifle through my thoughts, searching for something to focus on, to direct this anger and pain to. and I find one. My anger multiplies and the pain inside grows ever stronger, the pain of confusion and heartbreak that this thought gives. This single thought, this creation of pain.
Love. My focus falls like a headsman's axe on this thought of love, this feeling that drove my to insanity. I think of all my love, of all the people who had said the words to me. The words that have come to mean almost nothing now. I remember the pain that they gave me, saying wonderful things and convincing me that I was wanted. I remember that anger that filled me completely as they tossed me away as another little toy, a distraction to use to forget their own problems for a time. The pain that they caused me by never understanding the deeper meanings behind every single thing I wrote, write, say and said. The frustration they had towards me when I tried to be open, the confusion they gave when I was genuine and caring.
Why? Why did they not listen to what I said? Why did they insist on being blind to who I was? Thy don't see that I have died by their knife. They don't see the pain that they gave that drove me to kill myself, to kill my senses and lose my connection to the sane and healthy world. They don't understand my pain. They don't see the mask behind the mask behind the mask I removed. They give me no reason to let them in, no reason to trust them. They give far to much pain and never truly tried to understand, and what they did understand they refused to accept.
I find myself laying on the bed, waking from a dream. A dream where I remembered pain. I roll out of the bed, the bear still sitting there staring, ever staring into my soul. I look for the door, and approach it. I have remembered pain, and I hate what they did. I place my hand on the door knob, and return to the hallway.