Lost it
She stood there, in the middle of her room, looking around at the mess she had created in her room. Pieces of paper laid scattered around in various places, shredded and torn, discarded and thrown away. They didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Her chest rose and fell heavily as she took depth breaths, trying to quell the anger and rage that bubbled inside her chest. She'd had enough; she couldn't take anymore of her monotonous life. She looked around the room, surveying the damage caused. Anything previously on a surface, easily accessible, was now thrown somewhere in the room, most likely on the floor, though not always in the same condition it was before. If someone had come in and she wasn't standing there, it would have looked like a tornado had entered through the broken window. But that wasn't the case, she had done it. She had caused this. She was to blame.
The problem was though, she hadn't remembered even causing this mess. It was like someone else had taken over her body for a period of time. She had no memory of doing it. But all the facts pointed towards her doing it, especially the fresh cut on her hand caused by smashing her mirror. Blood seeped out of the wound, not enough to be life threatening, but enough to need bandages, but she took no notice of it. What was one more wound? It wasn't like she hadn't had any before. No, she'd gotten them every night for the past 3 years, ever since she turned 14. Those cuts, those were the cause of this, the reason why she had just lost it.
She was sick and tired of it. Sick of the lies, the fake smiles, the sugar-coated happy-go-lucky attitude she put on every day to convince others that nothing was wrong. But that was a lie. She wasn't alright, nothing was ok, it never was. She was tired – mentally, physically, emotionally tired, of everything. She couldn't keep up the lies and plastic smiles anymore. Everything was too much effort to keep pretending and convincing people that everything was ok. She didn't know who she was trying to convince anymore either, herself or those around her. It was like she was lying to herself about who she was, why she was doing things. Denying to herself, and to others, that the loneliness she felt, the darkness, the emptiness, all of it, that it was all just in her head, that in actual fact, she was just a normal 17 year old teenager going through a phase. A phase that just made her an attention seeking brat who had nothing wrong with her, who was making a big deal out of nothing. That was who she really was.
She wasn't sure how her friends, hell even her family, bought the lies and deceit. She knew she wasn't that great of an actress, though she managed to keep her true feelings blocked at a lot of the time, but she also knew that there were times where she failed and let her true feelings show. So then what was it? Was it that her friends didn't actually care how she felt? That they just wanted her to believe that they cared about her when they really didn't care at all. Was that it? Was she too much of a burden to her friends that they didn't bother to wonder if she was actually ok? Or did they truly believe that she was ok? She didn't know, but she knew that they would never actually tell her the truth; she just had to guess their feelings about her.
She just didn't know anything anymore and the worst part was - she didn't know whether she wanted to either. She didn't want to be her, she wanted to be someone who knew what they were thinking, why they thinking it. She didn't want to be the person who wasted her life - she wanted to be like her friends, people who knew what they were doing in life, people who were happy with their lives. She wanted to be happy with who she was. She wanted to feel like she had a purpose in life. She just wanted to stop these feelings that she had inside of her. She just didn't know how.
Everything just needed to stop. Time to stop moving, friends to stop ignoring her, the thoughts in her head just to stop. She wanted everything just to stop. She knew everything would just be easier if it just didn't exist. If she didn't exist. She wasn't the suicidal type, but there were often thoughts through her head of just needing to not exist, just to escape everything that existed around and in her. She used to be able to escape reality, and she had managed it in the beginning, but recently, her escape from reality failed her. It wouldn't sweep her away from the world anymore, leaving her worries and troubles of the real world behind, ignored, repressed. No, now, all it did was delay time from moving forward and giving her more time to wonder whether she was actually worth anything.
She spotted her diary lying open, face down, on the floor not too far away from where she was sitting, leaning against her bed, still in the middle of the room. The diary contained all of her erratic thoughts and feelings about everything. No-one knew half of the things that lay in there, only she did. She couldn't imagine the reaction she would get if she told her friends some of the things that were in there. She had tried, many times, just little things, but the reactions she got just made her feel worse than she already was. They all said it was in her head, that it was completely normal and she was making something out of nothing. But that wasn't true. If it were normal, she would have felt like this before now and she knew she hadn't had these kinds of thoughts before. That was how she knew these thoughts weren't normal. Now she just didn't tell them everything.
She looked around the room, thinking of all the things that made her do this. The constant insanity, the 'normal' thoughts, feelings of worthlessness, emptiness and loneliness, the fake smiles and laughs. The want to be anyone but herself. All these bottled up over who knows how long, never being able to tell anyone how she felt without feeling belittled. It was no wonder she lost it.
She stood up from her sitting position, grabbed her favourite figurine that her Dad had given her - a little porcelain girl with her thumb in her mouth holding a teddy bear down by her side - and threw it full force against the opposite wall. The figurine smashed upon impact, shattering into several different pieces, before falling onto the carpeted floor below. With that, she turned and stormed out of her room, out of the house and down the street. She needed to get out, she needed to escape. She just needed, even for a little while, for everything just to disappear.