I remain unknown...

White noise was all I could hear; it's all I ever heard. You know the sound of static on a radio turned low, so it's just tuneless noise in the background? That was what my life sounded like. Occasionally something broke the monotony, like a tuning dial had been slightly turned and I could hear the words on the next station over.

Sometimes I could see the static, too. I know sound isn't supposed to be visible, but if it was, I knew what it would look like. It appeared in front of my eyes like a swarm of bees, or a flurry of snowflakes, or a rainbow breaking apart.

It was only silence I was hearing, really. Silence was like the cold, or the colour black: it didn't really exist at all, it was just the absence of something else. I was unsure of how something that didn't actually exist could seem so loud.

But then again, I guess there was the obvious answer: I had gone insane.

To be honest, I preferred this type of insanity to what my life would be like without it. I preferred the sound of memories – could memories make a sound if I refused to hear? – to the sound of real life. At least this way I could scream as loud as I wanted and wouldn't hear a thing.

I wanted to scream often. Sometimes it felt like my entire body was a scream built up behind a wall of silence and static and if I hadn't gone insane yet, I was sure to soon.

In the end, it was only one thing that stopped me from going insane, really. It's a long, winding path that took me from the brink of insanity to recovery, and I'm going to take you down that path, to the best of my ability. And I guess the best place to start, on any path or in any story, is at the beginning.

This story begins with a room.

I'm bleeding where I bled; I'm hiding where I hid. I'm entertaining sicker things.

I allowed my silent cocoon to enfold me, throwing myself face-first down on my bed. The sound of static filled my ears, tuneless buzzing that I tried to ignore. I knew that if I bothered to listen hard enough, the static would turn into shouts and screams and broken dishes. I never even tried to listen anymore. To listen was to feel, and all I ever felt was pain.

Despite my best intentions, the static was broken and I heard the voices downstairs for a brief moment.

"You two-faced bastard!" The smashing of a plate against the wall.

I buried my face in my pillow, pushing it against my ears in an attempt to block out the noise and bring back my comforting silence. For once it didn't work; although the voices downstairs were quieted, different ones started up in my head, forcing me to relive a moment I'd rather forget.

"You bastard!" I screamed. "You lying, filthy, cheating bit of scum!"

"Anna, it's not –"

"Not how it looks, is it?" I sneered. "Well then, Cole, why don't you tell me what it's supposed to look like?" I turned away, not giving him time to respond. I was crying, hot, angry tears, but I refused to let him see them.

"You know what?" I said quietly. "Fuck you." And I marched out of the door and out of his life.

I lurched up from my bed, the image of walking through his door and finding him kissing another girl still floating across my eyes. Unsure of where I would go, I stalked out of my room and down the stairs. "I'm going out!" I called out to no one in particular, knowing that they wouldn't hear me over the sound of their own screams.

The door slammed behind me with some finality, leaving me enshrouded in silence once again.

I wasn't that surprised, it's always part of my awkward attempts to stay gone.

Kennedy stared at me appraisingly after I'd finished explaining why I had suddenly shown up outside her front door. "You know what you need?" she announced. "A night out."

I glanced at the clock; it was already seven. I then glanced down at my clothes: a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "But –"

Kennedy smirked, reading my mind. "Don't worry," she said. "You won't need to wear anything fancy to where we're going tonight. Now go clean up your face, you look a wreck."

I was ashamed to say that a tear or two may have escaped in Kennedy's presence, but she was my best friend for a reason. Obediently, I did as she said, wiping mascara-lined tear tracks off my face and reapplying a new layer of makeup to my eyes. When I had finished, Kennedy more or less dragged me out of her room and into her car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see," Kennedy replied enigmatically. I sighed; it was what I had expected.

We ended up at a small outdoor venue in a grassy park downtown. It looked pretty dead; we were the only ones there, except for a few people strolling along the pathways. A ragged poster taped to a lamppost announced that Marianas Trench would be playing at 8:30.

"Marianas Trench?" My brow wrinkled. "Who's that?"

"A local band. They're new, but good."

"Kennedy, there's no one here!" I hissed.

She shook her head sadly. "They're not exactly a big thing yet." I snorted; that was an understatement. "Maybe more people will show up after they start playing," she added hopefully.

We made our way to the front of the stage, which wasn't difficult considering the lack of a crowd. I had to admit I wasn't as excited as Kennedy seemed to think I should be; ever since I had tried to block noise out of my life, I hadn't really paid too much attention to music. It all sounded the same after a while, just more static, and judging by the number of people here, this band wasn't anything special.

When the band finally hit the stage, I thought it unlikely that my opinion was going to change. They were young, only a few years older than me. A band fresh out of high school, trying to make it big. Just like hundreds of others. I snorted again.

Within a couple of minutes, I had changed my mind. Their music was different; far from monotonous static. It thrummed through my body. I could feel the drumbeat shake the ground beneath my feet. And the lyrics and the voice of the lead singer cut right through to my core.
I hadn't felt like this in a long time. Maybe I had neverfelt like this.

I found myself singing along to the raw music, even though I didn't know the words. There was something different about this band: the music wasn't dressed up behind techno beats and recorded voices; it was real. Pure talent, pure emotion. Somehow, the words coming out of the lead singer's mouth described me, and the way I'd felt for months now.

"Backwards leaving, daily beatings. Stupid reasons, useless feelings."

I remained enthralled for the duration of the concert, and when the boys left the stage – much too soon, in my opinion – I cheered loudly, not caring that Kennedy and I were the only ones. The straggly crowd that had collected, attracted to the loud noise, dispersed almost immediately. However, I hung around with Kennedy afterwards, hoping to have a word with the band.

We didn't have to wait for long; the band members appeared a few minutes later carrying their instruments towards a van parked on the side of the road. Hesitantly, we started towards them. The bassist, a guy with curly hair, tapped the lead singer on the back when he saw us approaching.

He turned, as did the other band members, and I suddenly felt a nervous thrill. But this wasn't like meeting other bands; these guys were just teenagers, like us. So I strode forwards with Kennedy by my side.

"Marianas Trench, right?" I asked the lead singer.

"Actually, my name's Josh," he replied sardonically. "But if I remember correctly, yes, that is the name of our band."

I could feel myself blushing. "I just wanted to tell you guys that you made a new fan tonight."

"Another one?" This time it was the guitarist who spoke. "Dude, that's two this week!" He extended a fist, which Josh bumped with his own. They were both grinning; I found that I was too.

"Welcome to the fanbase of ten," the bassist said, extending his hand towards me. On second glance, I saw that both he and the drummer looked a little older than the other two, maybe in their early twenties.

I shook his hand briefly. "There were more than ten people here tonight!" I protested. I was stretching the truth; although the crowd had definitely numbered more than ten at one point, I knew none of them were really interested in the band.

"You're right; there were probably eleven," Josh said.

"Just wait, one day you'll have people lined up to meet you," Kennedy said confidently. I could tell she was pleased I had enjoyed the concert and even more pleased that we were standing here now.

"I'll hold you to that," the bassist said, now holding out his hand for Kennedy to shake.

"Guys, we should get going." The drummer spoke for the first time; he was at the back of the group checking the cases and I almost forgot he was there. "It's almost Matt and Josh's bedtime." He smirked and winked at Kennedy and me.

"Ian, we're not quite thatyoung," the guitarist – Matt – said.

"Not like I've never spent whole nights awake before," Josh added, rolling his eyes. "But we really should get going."

"So should we."

"Any chance of seeing you guys at our next show then?"

"If I have anything to say about it," Kennedy said.

I grinned. "We'll be there."

The ride back to my house consisted of us reliving the concert and the conversation with the guys; my insides still buzzed with the thrill of the music. I was the happiest I'd been in a long time: the wall of silence had come down, and I found I didn't mind.

Of course, that all changed when I opened my front door and the realization of reality came crashing back around me.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" The voice of my dear mother greeted me. "You useless, worthless –"

With a weary sigh I raised the wall of silence back up around me and blocked out the noise.

I'm sicker than I thought, I'm fighting what I fought. I'm right back where I started from.