We all keep up facades to protect ourselves from society’s scrutiny of our true selves. Beneath my false front is a ten year old child attempting to hang herself. She copes by hearing voices and smelling blood around her every time she wants to kill herself. But how much longer will the hallucinations suffice?
She is the freak, the mad girl that society wants to rehabilitate. They don’t want to stop the girl from suicide. They want to stop the girl from thinking about it. They might as well stop her from being an individual as well. How can I be myself without such significant aspects of me? I have proven them wrong repeatedly that madness does not correspond to bad. I have taught them that I can continue functioning just as they do, but because I don’t meet their standards I’m still a blemish to society. I’m still that mad freakish child. But how can I dare to blame people for not realizing, when in the end it is me who is in control of my feelings and my thoughts? I have a voice. I have a mind of my own. Even if they do not wish to hear it, I can speak up! I’m not an oppressed child anymore! Yet even though I escaped the house, I cannot seem to escape the cage. Not only is the child inside me still being oppressed and marginalized by society, but also she is hallucinating her own world. She has yet to find no need for such horrifying fantasies as the voices are her friends and the scent of blood is a reminder of her life. Regardless, she is still gripping the noose and has not placed it around her neck. Maybe by tomorrow or maybe by next month or maybe by next year she will walk away from the noose, begin to perceive the imaginary world as an indicator of her depression rather than a stigma to her character, and finally look toward the bright future ahead of her.
It can only take time, but I am confident that the girl will be successful, because I believe in her and her abilities even at such a young age. No matter what I will have to endure, I will always remember: love surpasses lifelong burdens; love surpasses ignorance; love surpasses the imaginary crowd; and most importantly, love surpasses the hollow facade. This is not just all in my head this is my life. I love the ten-year-old girl for who she is and for both her weaknesses and her strengths. I love her and everyone else who loves her. Even if she is still clutching that rope for years afterwards, I will just smile at her. I believe in her. I trust her.
My world does not end, despite all the blood and tear shed.
My world begins with the glowing light in my sight.
My world does not end with the hallucinations soaring through my head.
My world begins with the life I have obtained through strife.