Disclaimer: No, I don't own DBZ
Warnings: Angst
AN: In this fiction there are partly fragments from my other story "Cold
metal". Please! If there are any grammar mistakes or similar faults then
please tell me
________________________________________________________________
Insanity
I don't know what to make out, when I'm looking out of my window. Gray streets that turn into mourning alleyways of desolate existence in the rain? The building on which the mortar crumbles away bit by bit until the white of the wall is ultimately beyond recognition and a mild green attracts attention to itself, mingling with an indicated black? The people who wander around aimlessly to benefit from yet another senseless day?
Or shall I think up my own world? A different world outdoors, outside of my window. A world in which colours unite, in which things are insignificant but at the same time they are not. Just deeper. A world of make-believe which protects me from my own thoughts, which contorts moments and brushes memories aside as if they had never even been of any importance. Shall I rather create a world in which things are easy for me, in which I don't have to care anymore, in which I'm just plainly living. Loss of reality? Have there ever been any snatches in your life when you were at the certain point to wish that there wasn't such a thing a reality, or at least not the one which you found yourself in? Have there ever been instants in your life in which you hoped that some things were just mere dreams, anything you could wake up from? Maybe not now, but surely in some hours?
And then you noticed that you couldn't awake because there just wasn't an awakening? Because it was the truth?
´ What is truth ´ you will ask now. Truth is something you can't undo. Truth is pointed out by a chain of events that points out consequences. It exposes results openly and tells you to live with them. Who cares if you actually can. Life is truth.
It's the middle of June and I'm tired. The sun's too hot, too flamboyant, too pungent. My body feels sweaty and sticky. It's unpleasant. A friend of mine called me yesterday and asked about my welfare. Her questions were the same as usual. Why I wouldn't go clubbing with them anymore. Why all I ever did was to stay at home.
I laughed, then told her that all exams were coming up these times and I was merely stressed out a bit.
Not even a lie, just a humble part of the truth. Is half the truth a lie as well? If it is then I must be a very good liar.
Anyway I seemed to have said all the right things in the right places and my friend was content. I'm very good at telling people what they want to hear. No, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not doing it to butter someone up. I make them happy and they leave me alone. Fair enough for me.
Don't show them the way you're living, show them that you're still alive.
Lately I walked around at the shopping mall. I don't know why anymore. Maybe I wanted to buy alcohol. Maybe some other drugs. It isn't that important after all. Most things in life aren't really important - and the few things that actually are do never last. At least not for long. You could compare them to a wonderful dream. Eventually you will wake up to realize that real life runs differently, although all you wished for was to lie back down and continue this bitter sweet dream.
Dreams in which the world changes. Dreams in which you won't choke on your own -dreams-
My best friend Bra went to Croatia today. Goodbye, my lovely, we'll meet each other again in our next lives. She asked me to write her daily emails which contained all events she was missing. She begged me to write about my well- being. If I kept everything inside it would eat me inside out, she told me before she left. So maybe she was the only one who understood me after all. What she didn't see was that I was already spinning on the edge of the razorblade.
At the moment I'm wondering what I could possibly write. A piece of twisted reality or simply the truth? Then again it occurred to me that she was the one asking and thus must be capable of hearing the truth. Now then. Here it is, my dear.
Daily Email. Friday, 11th:
I'll stop by the discotheque in about two hours to pay back the money I borrowed from a buddy. I'd rather take care of it myself. I just don't want certain people to think I'm not able to do it all alone. I'm writing you what crosses my mind right now, so beware. I'm not feeling exactly fine. Melancholic in some ways. Feels like shit. I'd like to cut my arms to receive some freedom. Balm for my soul. Don't worry. I won't do it. But I'd like to.
I don't even know why I'm feeling this way. Feeling nothing at all and feeling too much at the same time. Funnily enough it happens every few days and slowly but surely I'm drawing the conclusion that it has to be because of him. But even that doesn't really apply in this connection, because he mailed me yesterday. Maybe it just isn't the same. I don't know. I'm feeling silly to still think about it. I don't want to, but I just can't stop. I hate it. I hate this helplessness. I want to vomit.
I have been toying with the idea to just don't get in touch with him anymore for ages. Let him live his fucking life if he doesn't want any help, apparently especially not from my side. He does visit Goten, after all. He told me once that Goten was the one who restored his calm. I can understand him, of course. But still. It's sad that he can't spend time with me like he did before.
Sorry. I'm bugging you again. I'm just not feeling fine at the moment
Daily Email. Sunday, 13th:
Wow. Who would have thought. I'm actually feeling crappier than I did on Friday. Cool, huh. A certain person visited me tonight. I'm feeling like a doll, not even worth a few pennies. He said he's had a guilty conscience after fucking me in the past. Not anymore apparently. The only things we're still speaking about are skin deep topics. For example when he asked me why I wasn't feeling well recently I couldn't get myself to answer him. Then again what could I possibly tell him? You're bringing me down? This situation is bringing me down? He wouldn't come ever again. I just know he wouldn't. He would cut all ties and I think I couldn't manage that one. Not yet, please. It's just sex, nothing more. But it allows me to see him. No one cares about the other, it's just about bodily warmth, the own climax. It's about forgetting and about feeling nothing at all. Maybe it's simply about living.
He said he should refrain from doing such unscheduled activities. Something like coming to visit me. It would knock over his whole time schedule he explained. Sometimes I wonder why he comes at all if that's what he's really thinking. He's well built, he's looking good. He could get any girl to fuck him. It's not like I'm magnificent in bed.
What is it that I'd like to forget? Everything. And more precisely? To think. To feel. Why so? To receive freedom. Feelings count as negative for someone who learned to hate them.
Daily Email, Sunday, 20th:
I spoke with Goten today. Now I finally got the certainty I was looking for all the time. Strangely it's exactly what I thought.
He told me his friend wouldn't get involed with me because he was afraid of hurting me when his ex would come back to him.
Funny thing is that rumors about the two of us have started and his ex seemed to have found out about those. And now she suddenly wants him back. Or at least she doesn't want to see him in the arms of another woman. I'm wondering if time turned back and we're back in kindergarten.
Apparently I have already seen his last girlfriend. Must have been the time when I was in a pub, drinking myself to unconsciousness because of him. Before I prepared to leave I went to Goten and gave him my cocktails. I've had enough that night. She must have stood beside him, but I didn't recognize her. Then again how could I, I had never seen her before. But still... still I wonder why she didn't catch my eyes. If it's her he wants she has to be something special, doesn't she? And all I remember about her is her black velvet skirt.
Goten asked me if I was in love with his best friend. I declined.
But then why does it feel as if my heart is bleeding tears?
My heart is shattering into thousand pieces, so tiny, so little that I don't even hope to recollect all those broken shards to fix it back together it again. My heart is beyond repair.
I'm standing on a life filled street and people keep coming and going. Some of them ignore me. Some of them jostle me. But there's no recognition in any of them. I like it because if no one knows who I am, they won't ask questions. They won't know what fragile form stands before them, ready to break in any minute. They won't know that I'm weak. That I gave up struggling.
They will just see a woman with a beautiful face. Who cares if her eyes are dull, blank and lack of expression and will to live. Who cares, that she is standing in the middle of nowhere, not moving. Never moving. Her only clothes a t-shirt, much too large for her emaciated form.
Forget how to feel. Forget how to be.
I wish I could start anew. Be another person. Someone like them. Going from place to place without really bothering.
But now I'm standing here, still old me, still wondering what to do, what to become, how to be. I can't be me anymore. I know that for sure.
But if I can't be me, then tell me, who can I be? Can I be?
Absent minded I wonder where my former self went. The me who would just fight for what she believed right. The me who would go on no matter what. The me who still had the hope to change everything. I had wanted to be the change that I wanted to see.
Embrace the future and whatever it brings. Laugh at destiny then turn your back on it.
At that time I was strong enough to fight fate. And at that time I knew for sure, that - if I gave it all - then I would succeed.
And now look at me. What have I become? What goals did I reach? A girl lost in her own mind, desperately trying to find her own self.
It's the beginning of September and I can't sleep anymore. The world cracks into black sherds that fluidize when touching the cold stone of the ground, to dissapear in the shadows as a stringy liquid. Maybe I'm just going crazy. The walls isolate me. They're pulsating and coming closer to haunt me. Bitter gile is forcing its ways from my stomach to my mouth, my throat is sore. The need to break out of this prison with my own imaginary grids is becoming louder. Louder. L - O - U - D - E - R.
Caught in the prison of delusion. One's own memories, crushing one's own soul, destroying one's own self protection. Alien thoughts, tiptoeing in one's own will, involving one deeper into the world of chaos.
- I can't breathe -
The feeling of icy coldness, that makes one's limbs grow stiff, that takes away every single possibility to move. Further down ... into eternity.
1. I can't ... breathe ...-
Have you ever been so cold, that you couldn't sense the deadness anymore?
The walls are white, bleak, abrasive. The atmosphere dry and lurking. A constant beeping accompanied with the monotonous buzzing of calculating machines. I don't know how I came here. The events that lead me to this place, that brought me into this situation. A black hole, nothing left of my former memories. A foreign substance in my body that just refuses to work and leaves me in the dark instead. How long is it since I came here? Days? Weeks? Months? ... Seconds? Different faces with no significant differences at all. One like the other. Beautiful, ugly, identic. Not really important. Nameless shemes and figures that enter the room to leave it shortly after their performance of duty, while their white capes flow like leaves in the wind. There is an uncertain mixture of pictures and colours in my head. I'm not able to phrase a single thought. As if my past went to dance with the stars in the sky and all that's left for me is the presence.
A recommencement or just the beginning of the end that catches up with me when it comes down to it?
I feel my best friend squeeze my hand tighty. "Dear God, what happened to you?" Her voice sounds incredulous, disbelieving.
My life happened. That's what.
________________________________________________
Thanx for reading, every review is very welcomed. Reviews keep me going.
________________________________________________________________
Insanity
I don't know what to make out, when I'm looking out of my window. Gray streets that turn into mourning alleyways of desolate existence in the rain? The building on which the mortar crumbles away bit by bit until the white of the wall is ultimately beyond recognition and a mild green attracts attention to itself, mingling with an indicated black? The people who wander around aimlessly to benefit from yet another senseless day?
Or shall I think up my own world? A different world outdoors, outside of my window. A world in which colours unite, in which things are insignificant but at the same time they are not. Just deeper. A world of make-believe which protects me from my own thoughts, which contorts moments and brushes memories aside as if they had never even been of any importance. Shall I rather create a world in which things are easy for me, in which I don't have to care anymore, in which I'm just plainly living. Loss of reality? Have there ever been any snatches in your life when you were at the certain point to wish that there wasn't such a thing a reality, or at least not the one which you found yourself in? Have there ever been instants in your life in which you hoped that some things were just mere dreams, anything you could wake up from? Maybe not now, but surely in some hours?
And then you noticed that you couldn't awake because there just wasn't an awakening? Because it was the truth?
´ What is truth ´ you will ask now. Truth is something you can't undo. Truth is pointed out by a chain of events that points out consequences. It exposes results openly and tells you to live with them. Who cares if you actually can. Life is truth.
It's the middle of June and I'm tired. The sun's too hot, too flamboyant, too pungent. My body feels sweaty and sticky. It's unpleasant. A friend of mine called me yesterday and asked about my welfare. Her questions were the same as usual. Why I wouldn't go clubbing with them anymore. Why all I ever did was to stay at home.
I laughed, then told her that all exams were coming up these times and I was merely stressed out a bit.
Not even a lie, just a humble part of the truth. Is half the truth a lie as well? If it is then I must be a very good liar.
Anyway I seemed to have said all the right things in the right places and my friend was content. I'm very good at telling people what they want to hear. No, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not doing it to butter someone up. I make them happy and they leave me alone. Fair enough for me.
Don't show them the way you're living, show them that you're still alive.
Lately I walked around at the shopping mall. I don't know why anymore. Maybe I wanted to buy alcohol. Maybe some other drugs. It isn't that important after all. Most things in life aren't really important - and the few things that actually are do never last. At least not for long. You could compare them to a wonderful dream. Eventually you will wake up to realize that real life runs differently, although all you wished for was to lie back down and continue this bitter sweet dream.
Dreams in which the world changes. Dreams in which you won't choke on your own -dreams-
My best friend Bra went to Croatia today. Goodbye, my lovely, we'll meet each other again in our next lives. She asked me to write her daily emails which contained all events she was missing. She begged me to write about my well- being. If I kept everything inside it would eat me inside out, she told me before she left. So maybe she was the only one who understood me after all. What she didn't see was that I was already spinning on the edge of the razorblade.
At the moment I'm wondering what I could possibly write. A piece of twisted reality or simply the truth? Then again it occurred to me that she was the one asking and thus must be capable of hearing the truth. Now then. Here it is, my dear.
Daily Email. Friday, 11th:
I'll stop by the discotheque in about two hours to pay back the money I borrowed from a buddy. I'd rather take care of it myself. I just don't want certain people to think I'm not able to do it all alone. I'm writing you what crosses my mind right now, so beware. I'm not feeling exactly fine. Melancholic in some ways. Feels like shit. I'd like to cut my arms to receive some freedom. Balm for my soul. Don't worry. I won't do it. But I'd like to.
I don't even know why I'm feeling this way. Feeling nothing at all and feeling too much at the same time. Funnily enough it happens every few days and slowly but surely I'm drawing the conclusion that it has to be because of him. But even that doesn't really apply in this connection, because he mailed me yesterday. Maybe it just isn't the same. I don't know. I'm feeling silly to still think about it. I don't want to, but I just can't stop. I hate it. I hate this helplessness. I want to vomit.
I have been toying with the idea to just don't get in touch with him anymore for ages. Let him live his fucking life if he doesn't want any help, apparently especially not from my side. He does visit Goten, after all. He told me once that Goten was the one who restored his calm. I can understand him, of course. But still. It's sad that he can't spend time with me like he did before.
Sorry. I'm bugging you again. I'm just not feeling fine at the moment
Daily Email. Sunday, 13th:
Wow. Who would have thought. I'm actually feeling crappier than I did on Friday. Cool, huh. A certain person visited me tonight. I'm feeling like a doll, not even worth a few pennies. He said he's had a guilty conscience after fucking me in the past. Not anymore apparently. The only things we're still speaking about are skin deep topics. For example when he asked me why I wasn't feeling well recently I couldn't get myself to answer him. Then again what could I possibly tell him? You're bringing me down? This situation is bringing me down? He wouldn't come ever again. I just know he wouldn't. He would cut all ties and I think I couldn't manage that one. Not yet, please. It's just sex, nothing more. But it allows me to see him. No one cares about the other, it's just about bodily warmth, the own climax. It's about forgetting and about feeling nothing at all. Maybe it's simply about living.
He said he should refrain from doing such unscheduled activities. Something like coming to visit me. It would knock over his whole time schedule he explained. Sometimes I wonder why he comes at all if that's what he's really thinking. He's well built, he's looking good. He could get any girl to fuck him. It's not like I'm magnificent in bed.
What is it that I'd like to forget? Everything. And more precisely? To think. To feel. Why so? To receive freedom. Feelings count as negative for someone who learned to hate them.
Daily Email, Sunday, 20th:
I spoke with Goten today. Now I finally got the certainty I was looking for all the time. Strangely it's exactly what I thought.
He told me his friend wouldn't get involed with me because he was afraid of hurting me when his ex would come back to him.
Funny thing is that rumors about the two of us have started and his ex seemed to have found out about those. And now she suddenly wants him back. Or at least she doesn't want to see him in the arms of another woman. I'm wondering if time turned back and we're back in kindergarten.
Apparently I have already seen his last girlfriend. Must have been the time when I was in a pub, drinking myself to unconsciousness because of him. Before I prepared to leave I went to Goten and gave him my cocktails. I've had enough that night. She must have stood beside him, but I didn't recognize her. Then again how could I, I had never seen her before. But still... still I wonder why she didn't catch my eyes. If it's her he wants she has to be something special, doesn't she? And all I remember about her is her black velvet skirt.
Goten asked me if I was in love with his best friend. I declined.
But then why does it feel as if my heart is bleeding tears?
My heart is shattering into thousand pieces, so tiny, so little that I don't even hope to recollect all those broken shards to fix it back together it again. My heart is beyond repair.
I'm standing on a life filled street and people keep coming and going. Some of them ignore me. Some of them jostle me. But there's no recognition in any of them. I like it because if no one knows who I am, they won't ask questions. They won't know what fragile form stands before them, ready to break in any minute. They won't know that I'm weak. That I gave up struggling.
They will just see a woman with a beautiful face. Who cares if her eyes are dull, blank and lack of expression and will to live. Who cares, that she is standing in the middle of nowhere, not moving. Never moving. Her only clothes a t-shirt, much too large for her emaciated form.
Forget how to feel. Forget how to be.
I wish I could start anew. Be another person. Someone like them. Going from place to place without really bothering.
But now I'm standing here, still old me, still wondering what to do, what to become, how to be. I can't be me anymore. I know that for sure.
But if I can't be me, then tell me, who can I be? Can I be?
Absent minded I wonder where my former self went. The me who would just fight for what she believed right. The me who would go on no matter what. The me who still had the hope to change everything. I had wanted to be the change that I wanted to see.
Embrace the future and whatever it brings. Laugh at destiny then turn your back on it.
At that time I was strong enough to fight fate. And at that time I knew for sure, that - if I gave it all - then I would succeed.
And now look at me. What have I become? What goals did I reach? A girl lost in her own mind, desperately trying to find her own self.
It's the beginning of September and I can't sleep anymore. The world cracks into black sherds that fluidize when touching the cold stone of the ground, to dissapear in the shadows as a stringy liquid. Maybe I'm just going crazy. The walls isolate me. They're pulsating and coming closer to haunt me. Bitter gile is forcing its ways from my stomach to my mouth, my throat is sore. The need to break out of this prison with my own imaginary grids is becoming louder. Louder. L - O - U - D - E - R.
Caught in the prison of delusion. One's own memories, crushing one's own soul, destroying one's own self protection. Alien thoughts, tiptoeing in one's own will, involving one deeper into the world of chaos.
- I can't breathe -
The feeling of icy coldness, that makes one's limbs grow stiff, that takes away every single possibility to move. Further down ... into eternity.
1. I can't ... breathe ...-
Have you ever been so cold, that you couldn't sense the deadness anymore?
The walls are white, bleak, abrasive. The atmosphere dry and lurking. A constant beeping accompanied with the monotonous buzzing of calculating machines. I don't know how I came here. The events that lead me to this place, that brought me into this situation. A black hole, nothing left of my former memories. A foreign substance in my body that just refuses to work and leaves me in the dark instead. How long is it since I came here? Days? Weeks? Months? ... Seconds? Different faces with no significant differences at all. One like the other. Beautiful, ugly, identic. Not really important. Nameless shemes and figures that enter the room to leave it shortly after their performance of duty, while their white capes flow like leaves in the wind. There is an uncertain mixture of pictures and colours in my head. I'm not able to phrase a single thought. As if my past went to dance with the stars in the sky and all that's left for me is the presence.
A recommencement or just the beginning of the end that catches up with me when it comes down to it?
I feel my best friend squeeze my hand tighty. "Dear God, what happened to you?" Her voice sounds incredulous, disbelieving.
My life happened. That's what.
________________________________________________
Thanx for reading, every review is very welcomed. Reviews keep me going.