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A/N: I often get cravings to write angst. I could not get the ending right. Augh, I had so many ideas, and no one to ask. Anyway, moving on, yes, now that I have gotten this out of my system, I will go to write the next chapter of Beautiful Stranger. This is set after X2. Also, I very much appreciate reviews :-)
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Breakdown
by Crimson Lipstick
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I honestly thought the breaking point was when I woke up one night, and thought it was day, and didn't realize the difference because that was what had been filtering through my mind. And I thought I was going crazy, but then I knew that had to be false, because I knew I was as sane as the next person, yet I somehow couldn't explain why. So lying there awake, my eyes glued open and praying for sleep, to a god I do not believe exists, and wishing for a better morning, was what I had become. A being of denial and remorse, the person that I hate; the one that believes of the magical thin line between your dreams and your life.
I know I will wake the next morning, proving that sleep could even hold me, and notice how again I'm the only one lying in the suffocating room. But I'll be in that exact same position as before, my legs twisted, my neck pained and my back stiff, trying to understand everything, and kidding myself that I could. The routine of the day would play before me, and I will recognize myself as a puppet in its shadow, because it controls me, and nobody ever notices. There isn't anything to see, though, except what has been seen before, and when I move my body to dress itself, and make itself up, I do it without thinking, and literally so. What do I expect, anyway? That when I grudge myself the liberty of eating, the scraps of breakfast people know to leave, and somebody asks if I felt alright, it's because that I look as if I were on the verge of a breakdown, not that fact that I layered on too much foundation?
Because I'm not. I'm not experiencing a breakdown and am nowhere near close. That's the fact of the matter, and no matter how it seems to be the end, and that there's no way out, and that matters are darker than ever, I stay me. The same as before. They say I'm resilient, and the ones I turn away from, say I'm cruel. But it's all the same. When I rustle into class ten minutes late, but five earlier than everyone expects, I sit with the others, the monsters that dare to twitch their lips through the pain that I will never show. When my teacher berates me, I feel as if I am the only one who sees the sternness etched in his face, and the sorrow masked cleverly to blend with the façade of life, and then I hope he doesn't hate me. Because I am just like before, complete with the over-sleeping.
I think he will hate me because he thinks I do not care, or am able to move on, which honestly, I know will never happen for him. He must know that too. Every time I sit in that lesson, and force myself to pay attention, stretching my pen obediently, I wonder this, but my wondering is never complete, for the bell always goes, and even if I could sit here for as long as I would, I already have an idea of the outcome. But, also, if nothing else, he might dare to talk to me. And he'll stop after five minutes, and it will be awkward , because it will be so obvious that things are fine. Then I will move onto the next part of the day, running to get on time, because even if nobody expects better, that's what I do, and then I will raise my hand when the timing is right, and smile with real happiness, when I get the marks. I will clean my plate, do my homework, smile and love. The world inside and outside will not seem to affect me. And everyone will wonder. But inside I will secretly wonder too, and I will feel myself breaking inside, and I will feel the pain, that I know I imagine, but dream to be real. However, then they laugh at this.
They're supposed to be my friends, some at the least, but they are me, even if I do not know who I am. So they have their joy, and advice that makes me want to scream, but then by the next, I would have forgotten. It will not seem important, except in the depths of my mind. I would not mind if they left, for I am used to abandonment. They are a harsh reminder of my curse, but that strangely, is not what is bothering me the most. I guess could pretend that this was because this was all I have ever known but I know it is much deeper than that. And I could pretend that I honestly were falling apart, but this would bevery hard to accomplish and so very easy for people to see right through, and then to brand me all sorts of things. So, you should understand that when I woke up that night, and thought it was day, how it finally felt to be free.
Yes, I was so overjoyed that night; because I felt as if all my wishes had come true. The kind of excitement you experience as a child on your birthday. And, as I waited for the tears, and angry words, and screams that never passed through my lips (and the blood that never bled), I could hear the clock ticking. I don't like to raise my hopes.In the end, anyway, they never came. And, I know, they never will. Because you know what?
I finally understand my dreams can not become my life.
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