Title: Everything Crumbles and Falls (Or Fades Away)
Author: BehrBeMine (behrbemine@hotmail.com)
Site:
Feedback: I need it like Ephram needs his father.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p
Summary: Colin. At home. Awaken from the coma. Broken.
Rating: PG
Distribution: Just please let me know and we'll be good.
Classification: Colin
Spoilers: 'Vegetative State' and no further
Author's Note: Intense drama. No fluff here.
Another Note: Please let me have found Colin's voice...
Dedication: For Darren, with love.
- -
I look around and realize that I am detached from the world. And I keep my eyes
to the ground because no one's there to save me. To make things different. The
way they used to be.
To make me feel the things that I can't.
I stare into the full-length mirror that stands in my bedroom. I hate it. I hate that it's right in front of me. Because I can't help but look. And I don't want to see what's there. But my eyes are one thing that hasn't been damaged, and I can see everything just fine. Objects like mirrors make it hard for me to be thankful for those things I didn't lose.
I tear off my t-shirt with the meaningless logo on it that makes it expensive. I don't want to look at it. I toss it behind my shoulder, and stare, really stare, at me. At the expanse of skin covering my chest, at the toned arms, and the stomach that's so flat. So this is why they say that I'm handsome. This is the standard that wins out in the game of looks that don't matter. These arms, this stomach... this is who I am. This is what defines me.
I should feel lucky. After all, things could be much harder if I had to suspect people of calling me ugly behind my back. One hard judgment I won't be forced to endure. One obstacle that's eliminated from the equation that stretches on forever.
I look at my face, exhaustion showing through in my eyes. I don't sleep. Not well, anyway. The nightmares just kill me. I scream in my subconscious all night long, and then wake up to the reality that matches the dream that just ended. My eyes reflect so much more into this mirror, staring back at me. I make an effort to blur my vision by focusing in fiercely on a small dot that should be wiped off with glass cleaner. I'd rather it stay there. Gives me something to stare at when I need to look away from the reflection of myself.
I can't face myself. Can't look straight-on at what everyone else sees. I don't want to look hard at myself, the way that they look at me. I'm terrified of what they see, and I can't handle seeing the same.
And yet I really am supposed to be grateful. Grateful that I'm alive. I try to be, really, I do.
I want to scream and shout when a tear escapes down my face. How can I cry when I feel so empty inside?
I want to be numbed with anesthetic. I want to be drugged with pain pills. I want to escape from my prison, my hell; from everything in my head. And I mean that.
I keep telling myself I can't do this anymore. But I don't listen well enough, because here I stand, still living, still breathing. Though every breath suffocates me, and hurts. All this life around me, it burns, it stings. Relentlessly. Always.
I have the sudden urge to punch the mirror. I need to stop having to face it.
The mirror breaks, and I widen my eyes in shock when I discover that I broke it myself. My thoughts became actions quicker than I could comprehend. That scares me, but I ignore it.
It's easier that way.
---
I think about Amy.
She looks at me, and I can see that she's dying. It's killing her, like it's killing me. I'm dragging her down. There's nothing she can do; nothing anyone can do. I can't help it if I'm dead inside.
I'm empty. I know that she cries. She doesn't let me see. Tries to hide it. Her voice starts to waver and crack, and she turns away.
And I wish I could remember her. I wish that I could care.
Wishing does nothing. Not even when you really, really need it to.
I'm alone and I'm lost. I'm falling... I fade into the blackness that surrounds me. God, it just won't let go.
I have to face it, have to accept what this means. I'm not meant to remember.
--
Bright, my long-time best friend who I cannot recognize, talks to me strangely. He keeps his voice and his words tentatively casual. His every moment around me seems forced. And yet I have no way of knowing for sure. No idea if this is just the way he is, the way he's always been. I can't know if he'll ever change, if he'll ever be different around me. I can't decide if I want him to.
I can't decide a lot of things. All I have are questions.
Would Bright and I have been friends if we weren't before? If I was who I am now? Is he someone who I would now want to be friends with? I don't know, because I can't feel, and thus he is merely a mystery to me. An indecision.
What kind of a friend was I? Do I really deserve all of this attention? Did I earn it? Did I have to?
--
My mother looks at me the strangest way of them all.
"I love you," she tells me. ...I cringe.
To feel something good for a change... I don't know if that's possible now.
She asked me the other day if something tasted sour. I didn't know how to answer her because I'm not sure that I know. How do I know that what I assume to be sour is right? What if my new judgment is wrong? What if everything I feel is wrong? What if I'll never know?
I feel like I want to ask someone these questions out loud, but I couldn't stand the way they would look at me. With misunderstanding and pity. And how am I supposed to look back?
Is this struggle worth it? Will there be anything left, in the end? Will I keep the right people or will I wind up losing them all?
With the state I'm in, I sometimes wonder if it matters. I know it matters to them, but... I can't even begin to guess what's right. And it's so hard to choose anything when everything feels wrong.
---
I'm alive and yet people are mourning for me. Coming out of the coma was like stepping out of a grave. I walk around in a daze that feels like a nightmare. It's like being a spectator to my own funeral.
People stare because they're worried. But I can't look them in the eye. Why should I want to? I don't know them anymore.
And what no one understands is that they no longer know me.
I'm not even an outline of my previous self. I make people feel uncomfortable because I am. Uncomfortable. And so many other things, even ones I can't describe.
Because of my memory... broken and smashed. Disintegrating. Into little pieces that have been blown away. I feel like I can't find them because they're too scattered in range; too far apart. They're just... gone. And if that's true, then what am I? Who am I? Who am I supposed to become?
My life has already been decided for me because of what it was before. I'm expected to be someone that is gone, someone that is not deep inside, but has truly disappeared.
Sometimes I don't even want to find that previous part of me. I almost want to create myself anew, but how can I do that when the people who love me want to be loving the person I used to be?
Confusion and pain. Loss in infinite amounts.
What am I doing? And will I ever know? If I died now, would I really be losing anything? I've already lost everything. Everything being myself.
--
I keep feeling this loneliness will wrap around me forever, and keep me from breaking free of my misery. This force that enslaves me... I don't think it will let go. The peace that I crave, it isn't going to come. Everything bad clings, and everything good falls away.
I fall back onto my bed, hard. My body slams into the mattress, and the bed frame jars. It bangs angrily against the wall. My head pounds in painful beats in sync with my heart. My heart that's still beating for no reason.
My mother enters the room, concerned about the sudden noise. She asks me if I'm okay, and I lie.
I try to smile to reassure her, but I can't.
I can't, because I will never be okay.
- -
end