Feel Again ~
By: Faelle ~
9.06.03
I always cry silent tears. There would be no sobs, moans, groans, just tears trailing from my eyes. Tears were for the weak, and if I was weak enough to cry there would be no sound. I still had some pride. You could say I was weak-spirited and had low self-esteem, but everyone thought I was confident and bright.
Everything people wanted of me (almost everything) was done. Why? I suppose partially because it made me feel wanted and partially because I couldn't stand seeing the hope dying from their eyes or them thinking less of me. I guess my existence depended on what people thought of me. I guess I was a shell of a person, but now was the time to shout, to retaliate. I would be restricted no more, I hope.
Walking down the hall, I thought to myself I won't back down but even though that was so, my stomach was in jumbles. My conscience yelled at me, my body shook from anxiety, but my heart beat on; it was telling me what I was doing was right. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a massive wooden door. I stood there examining the door with its intricate designs of strange lettering trying to stall myself. No! I thought. I won't back down. I raised my hand to knock, it was trembling profusely. I frowned at myself, disgusted that I was so weak and then knocked hard three times.
"Come in!" said a voice.
"Ah.Lieutenant is there a problem?" the man asked.
"I want to resign Sir," I said. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought. Why was I so blunt?
"Why?" he questioned.
"I feel." I couldn't complete that thought, I couldn't say that I felt restricted, I couldn't say that I felt disgusted with myself, and that I thought no one cared about me. At those words, I would be set up with a shrink or worse.
"Lieutenant, I'm sure you know that you're one of my best. I would hate it to see you leave. Is there anything I could do to persuade you to stay?"
I looked into his hopeful eyes and couldn't disappoint him.
I replied jokingly, "What about new living quarters?"
"Consider it done," he replied "You're new quarters are on the West Wing, room number 207. You know where that is right?"
"Yes sir."
"You're dismissed."
And I left, feeling as empty as ever walking down that hall. I didn't want a new room, I wanted a new life. I walked into my new room, richly adorned with abstract paintings, pottery and modern furniture. It was twice as big as my old room and had its own private bathroom, nothing like what a room in this organization should look like. I closed the door and laid on the bed.
I always cry silent tears.
I always cry silent tears. There would be no sobs, moans, groans, just tears trailing from my eyes. Tears were for the weak, and if I was weak enough to cry there would be no sound. I still had some pride. You could say I was weak-spirited and had low self-esteem, but everyone thought I was confident and bright.
Everything people wanted of me (almost everything) was done. Why? I suppose partially because it made me feel wanted and partially because I couldn't stand seeing the hope dying from their eyes or them thinking less of me. I guess my existence depended on what people thought of me. I guess I was a shell of a person, but now was the time to shout, to retaliate. I would be restricted no more, I hope.
Walking down the hall, I thought to myself I won't back down but even though that was so, my stomach was in jumbles. My conscience yelled at me, my body shook from anxiety, but my heart beat on; it was telling me what I was doing was right. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a massive wooden door. I stood there examining the door with its intricate designs of strange lettering trying to stall myself. No! I thought. I won't back down. I raised my hand to knock, it was trembling profusely. I frowned at myself, disgusted that I was so weak and then knocked hard three times.
"Come in!" said a voice.
"Ah.Lieutenant is there a problem?" the man asked.
"I want to resign Sir," I said. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought. Why was I so blunt?
"Why?" he questioned.
"I feel." I couldn't complete that thought, I couldn't say that I felt restricted, I couldn't say that I felt disgusted with myself, and that I thought no one cared about me. At those words, I would be set up with a shrink or worse.
"Lieutenant, I'm sure you know that you're one of my best. I would hate it to see you leave. Is there anything I could do to persuade you to stay?"
I looked into his hopeful eyes and couldn't disappoint him.
I replied jokingly, "What about new living quarters?"
"Consider it done," he replied "You're new quarters are on the West Wing, room number 207. You know where that is right?"
"Yes sir."
"You're dismissed."
And I left, feeling as empty as ever walking down that hall. I didn't want a new room, I wanted a new life. I walked into my new room, richly adorned with abstract paintings, pottery and modern furniture. It was twice as big as my old room and had its own private bathroom, nothing like what a room in this organization should look like. I closed the door and laid on the bed.
I always cry silent tears.