19 July 2009
The sick feeling swelled in my stomach. I could feel my heart losing its strength, letting the world go one shade darker then before. The keys continued tapping as I concentrated strongly on the writing.
I was forced upon this world to do two jobs. Support and create. I was a very caring type of guy with a lot of time to hear out people's problems; I was a sounding board for people with problems. I would have to listen everyday to the sound of my parents coming home and cursing work, telling me how they don't get treated with respect and dignity. Nothing I said seemed to sink in properly though, so I didn't say much.
My creativity was everywhere. I could draw, sing, play instruments, act, write, dance. I was artistic and bold. Like a statement spoken by Martin Luther King. I wasn't particularly strong, but I didn't have to be; my music was my power.
My life was purely fixed around my art until high-school. It was in that time I realised I was different, odd. I hadn't thought about girlfriends or anything a usual teenager would've thought about. I was too much in tune with the sounds that cascaded around me, always playing music.
That was when my life began to fade. Wither away like a tree.
My days from there were filled with bullying, teachers complaining and danger. I had lost track of who I was; my aspirations, my dreams, all vanishing.
I was a danger in and out of the classroom. Climbing on rooves, attacking teachers, destroying science equipment. Perhaps that was where I made my mask.
A face which I put on to hide me from the world. I became what people wanted me to be. I wasn't able to express myself the way I would do around family, I was afraid that I would be led to my destructive path once again.
My days of school passed fleetingly. One heart-ache after the next. One over-due coursework after the next. My life became lazy and very..... alone.
I seemed to cut myself off from the world, hiding myself in my house. Saving myself from the embarrassment of the outside world. A recluse.
I began to wonder what my purpose was, now that I was alone, back with the same job as what I was born with. It seemed that I didn;t have anyone to share that time of my life with. I went on the hunt once again.
It was hard after the high-school let downs to pick myself back up and try again. I wasn't too sure what it felt like to be in love with someone, especially after being away from everyone for just under two months.
I didn't know where to look. I could of gone into town and looked around for someone, but I found my shy nature shone through as I realised how useless I was at flirting. It was a tragic let down in town. I came home alone, no one there to be with me.
I thought of taking some advice and looking online. Looking at some profile sites, like facebook etc. It seemed hopeless. Girls my age were too stuck-up, too high strung to go out with the likes of me. I wondered back to loneliness, wondering how fast a hanging could kill.
It was only by coinsedence that I met someone special on a website. She was beautiful. I immediately lost myself to her. Then I saw the flaw. She was twenty, I was fifteen. I continued anyway. I wanted to try her out, see what she was like.
She fitted perfectly, the one I had waited for.
I knew what the problem was going to be. I knew my parents would be wary and over-protective. It was innevitable. I had my heart set on her, but I was right.
My parents teared me apart, ripping away all the chances I had of finding love, of finding the one true person. I was dying. Not from disease, not from cancer, not even from swine flu. But instead from the worst known illness known to humankind.
I couldn't play guitar, I couldn't write, I couldn't even breathe without feeling like she was going to be there for me.
But she wasn't.
How was I going to ask her to wait for three weeks before we did anything? How was I going to convince my parents she was the one? How was I going to stop feeling so sick of love? So sick of life?
What was I to do?