Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Any reference to known Marvel characters belong to Marvel. Rhianna belongs to Magdellin Fallen (a really superb writer), and is used with permission. Only the thoughts and story belong to me, and even then, I must thank Maggie for helping me find myself again.
Author's Notes: This is a story from Rhianna's first-person POV. It acts as a sort of a "catharsis" story for me. This is not my usual fluff, this will take you down a forgotten, dark path to my mind. This is dark, I am dark. It deals with cutting, manic-depression, abuse, all real life issues of the character's and my own. Yes, I cut, yes, I've tried to kill myself many times. Don't worry about me. I don't...
Any questions, flames, archiving, or musings may be dropped off at iphigenias_kiss@yahoo.com...thank you.
This is dedicated to Maggie and Susanna Kaysen...have you ever felt blue? ;)
The Road To Nowhere
By Ruth "Kat" Richter-Woytsek
Welcome to Nowheresville. Population: me. A big, fat zero.
How did I end up here, traveling down this stupid gravel road? I was at that creepy mansion, trapped inside like some circus animal performing with the other freaks. Freaks just like me.
But not like me. They don't understand, they don't understand me. That jackass Logan wouldn't leave me alone, kept ripping at my soul with his "cute" little remarks, meant to hurt me, yet trying to "help" me, too. It doesn't help, the taunts, the thoughtless chatter. It doesn't help at all.
I had to leave. I HAD to. They would've killed every part that is the real me with their "help". Cutting is not a cry for help, don't they see? I have to do it to release the pain or else it just sits there, swelling inside until I burst. I can't hurt, I hate to hurt. I didn't even mean to hurt Dad like that, but I couldn't help it. He got in my way. He knew better, he really did.
I can't hurt anyone else. I have to hurt me. If everyone starts to see the real me inside, the angry bitch waiting for an excuse, just ONE excuse, then they'll send me away again. I don't like "Away", I don't like fading out of existance unless I will myself to. So I turn on the chipper chick mask, pretend everything is A-Ok, that nothing's wrong. I have to, you see? The real me is not pretty.
I guess it's not their fault that they want to help. They're probably out right now, searching for me. I feel bad. I shouldn't have left. Maybe I should just tell someone finally...
But I can't, wuss that I am. They wouldn't understand, none of them has went through...that.
I am still afraid that he's out there somewhere, watching me, waiting for the right time to strike. I don't believe I really killed him. I know he was just pretending to be dead, so he could come after me and hurt me in the worst way. I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry I couldn't be the good girl you wanted. I'm sorry that Mommy died, I'm sorry that you loved her more than me. I'm just sorry.
What can he do if he's out there? Threaten to kill me? Threaten to kill my friends, kill my pets, kill everyone?
I know he can do it, some little sick part of my mind KNOWS he can. He's that strong, and I'm that weak.
It's getting dark and cold. Maybe I should just go back and apologize.
No! And join the circus again? Save the world who hates and fears me? No thanks. This planet and everyone on it can kill each other for all I care.
What kind of crock is that?? "Saving the world that fears and hates you"?? Why would I want to save some asshole who'll just spit in my face when it's over? How can they buy that crap?
Why can't I buy that crap?
My head HURTS like someone is constantly pounding at my skull with a hammer. My eyes are so heavy from lack of sleep, and my poor stomach keeps bitching and moaning because I haven't ate in a long while. But I like the empty feeling. A full stomach just means that there will be more food to bring up later anyway because all that does is make me fat, and if it kills me in the process then so be it. No one would mind. Or mourn.
Maybe Logan would feel bad in the end, but I doubt it. He'd probably just spew some shit about me not being able to "hack it", that I was too weak to fight.
And he's right. I don't belong here. I don't. All I do is piss people off, jinx them, make them wish I was dead...so why not be dead? Wouldn't it be better than making everyone hate me? Wouldn't it be better than feeling all this pain??
Anathema. Hank was right. The living, walking curse. Better to feel no pain at all.
I have to bring out my razors. I stole them back from Logan before I left. I have to release it. All of it. The only way to feel better is to bleed.
Slicing my arms is a piece of cake, I've done it so long. My legs are covered in pictures and words and just randoms lines. I love to feel the throbbing, it reminds me that I'm alive...
Blood pours from the rose I've drawn. I cut a little deep, but it doesn't matter. I feel real, I feel alive, and best of all, the pain is fading.
But a little taunt always bubbles up from the pit of my brain...why don't you take it further?
Daddy offered me his Luger once, loaded and ready to go. Told me to just go through with it, make his life better, make my life better. After all, everyone wants to die some point in their life, right?
I was too scared and shocked that he'd do that. I was a chicken shit. Maybe I still am.
An old "boyfriend" offered me some pills. He said that I was such a slut and tease anyway, and I'm fat and ugly, and no one would ever want me.
I know he's right.
But Logan, LOGAN offered me his blades. Maybe the animal in him saw inside me, saw my suffering, and knew what other beasts do to end their suffering.
I take out the big blade he offered and slice deep, deeper than ever before, and it feels good, oh so good...
I watch as the pain trickles away and mixes with the gravel. I keep slicing and slicing, trying to rid myself of it all. They aren't coming, they don't care, the X-Men only care for themselves.
No one will ever love me. It's better this way. No more hurt, no more pain.
It's so easy. It's just too easy to fade away....
Author's Notes: This is a story from Rhianna's first-person POV. It acts as a sort of a "catharsis" story for me. This is not my usual fluff, this will take you down a forgotten, dark path to my mind. This is dark, I am dark. It deals with cutting, manic-depression, abuse, all real life issues of the character's and my own. Yes, I cut, yes, I've tried to kill myself many times. Don't worry about me. I don't...
Any questions, flames, archiving, or musings may be dropped off at iphigenias_kiss@yahoo.com...thank you.
This is dedicated to Maggie and Susanna Kaysen...have you ever felt blue? ;)
The Road To Nowhere
By Ruth "Kat" Richter-Woytsek
Welcome to Nowheresville. Population: me. A big, fat zero.
How did I end up here, traveling down this stupid gravel road? I was at that creepy mansion, trapped inside like some circus animal performing with the other freaks. Freaks just like me.
But not like me. They don't understand, they don't understand me. That jackass Logan wouldn't leave me alone, kept ripping at my soul with his "cute" little remarks, meant to hurt me, yet trying to "help" me, too. It doesn't help, the taunts, the thoughtless chatter. It doesn't help at all.
I had to leave. I HAD to. They would've killed every part that is the real me with their "help". Cutting is not a cry for help, don't they see? I have to do it to release the pain or else it just sits there, swelling inside until I burst. I can't hurt, I hate to hurt. I didn't even mean to hurt Dad like that, but I couldn't help it. He got in my way. He knew better, he really did.
I can't hurt anyone else. I have to hurt me. If everyone starts to see the real me inside, the angry bitch waiting for an excuse, just ONE excuse, then they'll send me away again. I don't like "Away", I don't like fading out of existance unless I will myself to. So I turn on the chipper chick mask, pretend everything is A-Ok, that nothing's wrong. I have to, you see? The real me is not pretty.
I guess it's not their fault that they want to help. They're probably out right now, searching for me. I feel bad. I shouldn't have left. Maybe I should just tell someone finally...
But I can't, wuss that I am. They wouldn't understand, none of them has went through...that.
I am still afraid that he's out there somewhere, watching me, waiting for the right time to strike. I don't believe I really killed him. I know he was just pretending to be dead, so he could come after me and hurt me in the worst way. I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry I couldn't be the good girl you wanted. I'm sorry that Mommy died, I'm sorry that you loved her more than me. I'm just sorry.
What can he do if he's out there? Threaten to kill me? Threaten to kill my friends, kill my pets, kill everyone?
I know he can do it, some little sick part of my mind KNOWS he can. He's that strong, and I'm that weak.
It's getting dark and cold. Maybe I should just go back and apologize.
No! And join the circus again? Save the world who hates and fears me? No thanks. This planet and everyone on it can kill each other for all I care.
What kind of crock is that?? "Saving the world that fears and hates you"?? Why would I want to save some asshole who'll just spit in my face when it's over? How can they buy that crap?
Why can't I buy that crap?
My head HURTS like someone is constantly pounding at my skull with a hammer. My eyes are so heavy from lack of sleep, and my poor stomach keeps bitching and moaning because I haven't ate in a long while. But I like the empty feeling. A full stomach just means that there will be more food to bring up later anyway because all that does is make me fat, and if it kills me in the process then so be it. No one would mind. Or mourn.
Maybe Logan would feel bad in the end, but I doubt it. He'd probably just spew some shit about me not being able to "hack it", that I was too weak to fight.
And he's right. I don't belong here. I don't. All I do is piss people off, jinx them, make them wish I was dead...so why not be dead? Wouldn't it be better than making everyone hate me? Wouldn't it be better than feeling all this pain??
Anathema. Hank was right. The living, walking curse. Better to feel no pain at all.
I have to bring out my razors. I stole them back from Logan before I left. I have to release it. All of it. The only way to feel better is to bleed.
Slicing my arms is a piece of cake, I've done it so long. My legs are covered in pictures and words and just randoms lines. I love to feel the throbbing, it reminds me that I'm alive...
Blood pours from the rose I've drawn. I cut a little deep, but it doesn't matter. I feel real, I feel alive, and best of all, the pain is fading.
But a little taunt always bubbles up from the pit of my brain...why don't you take it further?
Daddy offered me his Luger once, loaded and ready to go. Told me to just go through with it, make his life better, make my life better. After all, everyone wants to die some point in their life, right?
I was too scared and shocked that he'd do that. I was a chicken shit. Maybe I still am.
An old "boyfriend" offered me some pills. He said that I was such a slut and tease anyway, and I'm fat and ugly, and no one would ever want me.
I know he's right.
But Logan, LOGAN offered me his blades. Maybe the animal in him saw inside me, saw my suffering, and knew what other beasts do to end their suffering.
I take out the big blade he offered and slice deep, deeper than ever before, and it feels good, oh so good...
I watch as the pain trickles away and mixes with the gravel. I keep slicing and slicing, trying to rid myself of it all. They aren't coming, they don't care, the X-Men only care for themselves.
No one will ever love me. It's better this way. No more hurt, no more pain.
It's so easy. It's just too easy to fade away....