Puppet
I don't believe in God. Strange way to start no? Well I don't and of all the thoughts I need to sort out that one seems to be most prominent in my mind. I don't believe in god, I don't think there is an all-powerful entity that controls my life. Neither does there exist in my beliefs a final place of rest where you are rewarded for your good deeds. There is no heaven, miracles don't exist.
This isn't to say I don't believe in anything. I believe in Death. In pain and sorrow, tears and blood, and most of all Hell. Yes, there is most definitely hell, some vague form of endless suffering that loops upon itself into eternity. Hence I believe in reincarnation, if there is no hell then there is the endless torture of living again and again, I can think of no greater punishment.
Through my entire life there has only been one true good thing that I have had faith in. Love. There had to be love, right? This great thing that so many have devoted their lives to explaining and obtaining must exist. I have read books, poems, even a bit of Shakespeare, long detailed accounts of what love is.
I thought I was in love. I still have doubts as to whether I am still or if I even was. God- I still use that term though I don't believe- what the hell is love anyway? Hmm, I don't know and that's what hurts me most. How selfish am I to claim to be in love when I have no goddamn clue what the hell it is? God, how could I do that to him? How could he do that to me??
I'm up late, past three in the morning actually and feeling a little dizzy but I can't sleep now, there is too much screaming in my head. Perhaps by committing this to paper or at least to a floppy disc then I can drain away some of the excess to leave me with my small fantasies and storylines again. Those sweet simple dreams where there can always be a happy ending. Though, to be fair I have never truly ended a story, they tend to stretch to infinity because I cannot stand to end it.
So late, and I can hardly see straight with the wet, drying and wispy hair curling around my face. My stomach is churning and if I had food in my stomach I know I'd throw up. Again. You see, for a long time I have toyed with this notion of what love is and came to the conclusion I was in love with my best friend. But still, how can I claim that if I don't know what love is? There it is, the thing that has truly been itching at my skin.
Am I capable of love or is this just some deluded fantasy to be shelved with my collection of whimsical plots? Convenient I would love the one closest to me, just like in those silly fairy tales and manga plots. It's driving me crazy.
Those beautiful blue eyes that haunt me, the smile that drags a responding one from me. God, the way I just want to feel his warmth and touch his brown curly hair. Is it even real? Or are these emotions that I think are so strong just figments of my imagination, the tricks of a romantic mind. Maybe my reaction was just melodrama. Confused? Let me explain.
For a while now I've written stories. Both fiction and based on things that have happened/are happening to me. Some of them I even posted where other people could read them. How stupid of me I suppose but I just wanted to think that maybe somebody could read them and walk away with a little more than they started with. Well for whatever reason I posted them on Fanfiction.net in an account I told no one of.
Over and over again I claimed love for my best friend, singing out how he made me feel both in my Bio and in my stories. I described these pathetic feelings and wrote that, "I loved him with all my heart and soul in fact." And it was found. By him. I suppose I should have chosen a better name, someone who knows me as well as he did had no problem finding it. It was simple, the name I had always wanted to change mine to and my favorite animal jammed together.
And then. Oh god! He read one of my stories; some irrelevant little thing that I wouldn't have minded except it gave him a portal to the others, to my secrets that I had shown the world but not him. And he read them. And he said he loved me too in a little review.
God it fucking broke my heart. I think. If love doesn't exist then is such a thing possible? All I know is I felt sick, my stomach twisted in little knots and I couldn't breathe. The world ended with that little tiny review to an insignificant story. My eyes sting and I might cry but I never cry. The last time I cried was when I got my ears pierced and it was only two little tears at the pain before I slugged the poor lady working at icings for hurting me.
I know I know, if the person you love, or think you do says they love you back it's a good thing, right? How fucking wrong you are. Because I had seen/heard that phrase before and it wasn't what I wanted. It was with Relena, a girl who I'm friends with when she told Heero she thought she was in love with him. He smiled and hugged her, saying he loved her too, she was a great friend.
And that was what it was. He loves me as his friend, he has learned my most honored secret and is treating me the same way he treated a girl who had a crush on him. Simple smiling and ignoring it. Sometimes I wonder if he is incapable of love, he has never accepted any of the people who would want to be with him. His only relationship other than brotherly friendship I can think of was a little internet fling, short and simply for the chance to say he had had one back when they were a popular thing.
At school he walks on by me, pretends like nothing has changed at all. The same thing he did with Relena.
I should have known but I hoped for something different. So I tried to drown myself in the shower, well not really. But I took a shower that was hours long, trying to wash away the horrible pain in my gut like I had been stabbed. First the water was warm then hotter and finally freezing but I stayed in their until it got dark enough I couldn't see the faucet.
With my hair trying to strangle me I stumbled for a light and a towel and ended up emptying my guts into the toilet. Paying homage to the porcelain god. Oh goody. Afterwards I tried to sleep but couldn't and now here I am typing to try and organize this pathetic excuse for thoughts.
My hair has been combed with a tiny brush and tied into long tight pigtails; I spent an hour on it before I decided to write. Heero loves my hair, he plays with it all the time, admiring how soft it is and the faint red highlights you can almost never see. A faint throwback to my Irish heritage. Ugh, it smells like that kind of shampoo with no real smell, just a flat tangy indescribable smell. I remember once when Heero called it my smell because I always use the same brand.
I think Heero is the first to know other than the readers of my stories. After all, I am still kind of in the closet. My friends always tease me about finding me a nice girlfriend and can never understand the reason why I grimace and sneer at the very idea. I hate women; well not really, I just don't admire them in the romantic sense. I most certainly don't check them out but I don't check out boys much either. For some reason the only pretty face and long legs I can think of are Heero's.
God get him out of my head! No matter what I think, what I say he lingers like a specter behind it all. Every storyline he had a hand in, every beautiful character I create holds a scent of his essence. How did he become so entangled in every thing I do? My very existence?
I can't stand it! And the worst part is that I know that tomorrow I'll go to school and smile and play nice, pretending that I still see a point to getting up in the morning but the plain fact is that there isn't one. But no one notices. I've been pretending for the last oh, what? Three years? And no one even fucking notices!
Stop looking right through me! See me! There's a reason why I'm so loud and clumsy and know it all and shy and a million other things all at once because maybe then they would tell me to cut the bullshit and quit pretending!
I have been through HELL! And I'm tired of the silence! SOMEONE NOTICE ME!!
...
But why would they? Maybe they like the shadow on the wall more than the puppet master. After all, the little toy that dances and smiles at them must be so much more appealing. No one knows about me, no one cares. I've been pretending so long I don't even know who I really am anymore. Even now I dangle a puppet to speak for me because I want someone to listen.
I'm so fucking selfish. Why the hell would wonderful perfect Heero want someone as tainted as me? I'm not gorgeous, the best I could hope for is cute. I'm not strong or manly or womanly or talented or smart. Heero deserves someone as wonderful as he is, not some pathetic kid who never knew their mum, who's poor, who was raped. He doesn't want to know that bullshit, he wouldn't want to be near me if he knew.
God I should be happy he wants to be near me now after finding out these of so inappropriate feelings I have! There are so many things that if he knew he would worry about, he's such a good friend, always concerned for others. I don't care what I said earlier, I love him! If there is one true thing about me it is that I love him!
But I can't do anything. He has spoken; I am nothing. Even if he hadn't I couldn't do anything, it would be unfair to him. He would find out. About my past, about the lies and stories, about the blood.
Blood. I like blood, it's a nice color. Before Heero became my friend I would admire my blood often. No one knows but I have scars on my legs; that's why I never wear shorts. When I was younger I'd run around outside and get cuts and scrapes all the time, normal kid stuff. But I wouldn't let it heal, I'd keep tearing it open or cutting it so I could see myself bleed. It didn't hurt really. It was best when it was dark and it poured out, making my socks a different color. I liked when it would run down my leg and drip after me when I walked. My bedroom floor and the hallway have many little stains.
My, don't I sound morbid? Well it's true, I think I was near insanity back then because no one would fucking listen. Every day my soul died more. I cried back then, all the time but never where anyone would see, where anyone would know. That was before Heero dragged me back to the real world I had walked through and never saw, a blind invisible spirit wandering aimlessly. Before I promised myself I'd be strong and smile for him.
Don't ask me why I did anything, it is a useless case. Sometimes I wish that that time I had succeeded and killed myself. But you know, no one even fucking knew!!! They ignored me, everyone always ignores my bleeding.
Once I was making dinner and opening a can, the kind that have a pin and you roll it? Well the pin broke and not even thinking I grabber the coiled metal and pulled, trying to undo the last of the can myself. Cut the hell out of my hand and no one really cared. There was so much blood, dripping down my arm and onto the floor in a dark red river. It felt good but I was panicked at the same time, damn survival skills. No one took me to the hospital, all I did was rinse off the hand, wrap it up and go about making dinner.
You don't have to believe this is real but it is. I'm not insane, just sad.
But go on, ignore me, go away in silence. I don't care anymore. The truth is there and no one notices, not even him. I'm smiling and now I'll go to sleep because I have school tomorrow. All my thoughts have been slapped onto a nice little piece of white so I can dream.
Being a puppet isn't so bad, it's easy to make believe. So why don't I play along, smile and dance prettily on my strings because really...
It's what they expect.
Do you want you play along? Or will you speak into the void?
I don't believe in God. Strange way to start no? Well I don't and of all the thoughts I need to sort out that one seems to be most prominent in my mind. I don't believe in god, I don't think there is an all-powerful entity that controls my life. Neither does there exist in my beliefs a final place of rest where you are rewarded for your good deeds. There is no heaven, miracles don't exist.
This isn't to say I don't believe in anything. I believe in Death. In pain and sorrow, tears and blood, and most of all Hell. Yes, there is most definitely hell, some vague form of endless suffering that loops upon itself into eternity. Hence I believe in reincarnation, if there is no hell then there is the endless torture of living again and again, I can think of no greater punishment.
Through my entire life there has only been one true good thing that I have had faith in. Love. There had to be love, right? This great thing that so many have devoted their lives to explaining and obtaining must exist. I have read books, poems, even a bit of Shakespeare, long detailed accounts of what love is.
I thought I was in love. I still have doubts as to whether I am still or if I even was. God- I still use that term though I don't believe- what the hell is love anyway? Hmm, I don't know and that's what hurts me most. How selfish am I to claim to be in love when I have no goddamn clue what the hell it is? God, how could I do that to him? How could he do that to me??
I'm up late, past three in the morning actually and feeling a little dizzy but I can't sleep now, there is too much screaming in my head. Perhaps by committing this to paper or at least to a floppy disc then I can drain away some of the excess to leave me with my small fantasies and storylines again. Those sweet simple dreams where there can always be a happy ending. Though, to be fair I have never truly ended a story, they tend to stretch to infinity because I cannot stand to end it.
So late, and I can hardly see straight with the wet, drying and wispy hair curling around my face. My stomach is churning and if I had food in my stomach I know I'd throw up. Again. You see, for a long time I have toyed with this notion of what love is and came to the conclusion I was in love with my best friend. But still, how can I claim that if I don't know what love is? There it is, the thing that has truly been itching at my skin.
Am I capable of love or is this just some deluded fantasy to be shelved with my collection of whimsical plots? Convenient I would love the one closest to me, just like in those silly fairy tales and manga plots. It's driving me crazy.
Those beautiful blue eyes that haunt me, the smile that drags a responding one from me. God, the way I just want to feel his warmth and touch his brown curly hair. Is it even real? Or are these emotions that I think are so strong just figments of my imagination, the tricks of a romantic mind. Maybe my reaction was just melodrama. Confused? Let me explain.
For a while now I've written stories. Both fiction and based on things that have happened/are happening to me. Some of them I even posted where other people could read them. How stupid of me I suppose but I just wanted to think that maybe somebody could read them and walk away with a little more than they started with. Well for whatever reason I posted them on Fanfiction.net in an account I told no one of.
Over and over again I claimed love for my best friend, singing out how he made me feel both in my Bio and in my stories. I described these pathetic feelings and wrote that, "I loved him with all my heart and soul in fact." And it was found. By him. I suppose I should have chosen a better name, someone who knows me as well as he did had no problem finding it. It was simple, the name I had always wanted to change mine to and my favorite animal jammed together.
And then. Oh god! He read one of my stories; some irrelevant little thing that I wouldn't have minded except it gave him a portal to the others, to my secrets that I had shown the world but not him. And he read them. And he said he loved me too in a little review.
God it fucking broke my heart. I think. If love doesn't exist then is such a thing possible? All I know is I felt sick, my stomach twisted in little knots and I couldn't breathe. The world ended with that little tiny review to an insignificant story. My eyes sting and I might cry but I never cry. The last time I cried was when I got my ears pierced and it was only two little tears at the pain before I slugged the poor lady working at icings for hurting me.
I know I know, if the person you love, or think you do says they love you back it's a good thing, right? How fucking wrong you are. Because I had seen/heard that phrase before and it wasn't what I wanted. It was with Relena, a girl who I'm friends with when she told Heero she thought she was in love with him. He smiled and hugged her, saying he loved her too, she was a great friend.
And that was what it was. He loves me as his friend, he has learned my most honored secret and is treating me the same way he treated a girl who had a crush on him. Simple smiling and ignoring it. Sometimes I wonder if he is incapable of love, he has never accepted any of the people who would want to be with him. His only relationship other than brotherly friendship I can think of was a little internet fling, short and simply for the chance to say he had had one back when they were a popular thing.
At school he walks on by me, pretends like nothing has changed at all. The same thing he did with Relena.
I should have known but I hoped for something different. So I tried to drown myself in the shower, well not really. But I took a shower that was hours long, trying to wash away the horrible pain in my gut like I had been stabbed. First the water was warm then hotter and finally freezing but I stayed in their until it got dark enough I couldn't see the faucet.
With my hair trying to strangle me I stumbled for a light and a towel and ended up emptying my guts into the toilet. Paying homage to the porcelain god. Oh goody. Afterwards I tried to sleep but couldn't and now here I am typing to try and organize this pathetic excuse for thoughts.
My hair has been combed with a tiny brush and tied into long tight pigtails; I spent an hour on it before I decided to write. Heero loves my hair, he plays with it all the time, admiring how soft it is and the faint red highlights you can almost never see. A faint throwback to my Irish heritage. Ugh, it smells like that kind of shampoo with no real smell, just a flat tangy indescribable smell. I remember once when Heero called it my smell because I always use the same brand.
I think Heero is the first to know other than the readers of my stories. After all, I am still kind of in the closet. My friends always tease me about finding me a nice girlfriend and can never understand the reason why I grimace and sneer at the very idea. I hate women; well not really, I just don't admire them in the romantic sense. I most certainly don't check them out but I don't check out boys much either. For some reason the only pretty face and long legs I can think of are Heero's.
God get him out of my head! No matter what I think, what I say he lingers like a specter behind it all. Every storyline he had a hand in, every beautiful character I create holds a scent of his essence. How did he become so entangled in every thing I do? My very existence?
I can't stand it! And the worst part is that I know that tomorrow I'll go to school and smile and play nice, pretending that I still see a point to getting up in the morning but the plain fact is that there isn't one. But no one notices. I've been pretending for the last oh, what? Three years? And no one even fucking notices!
Stop looking right through me! See me! There's a reason why I'm so loud and clumsy and know it all and shy and a million other things all at once because maybe then they would tell me to cut the bullshit and quit pretending!
I have been through HELL! And I'm tired of the silence! SOMEONE NOTICE ME!!
...
But why would they? Maybe they like the shadow on the wall more than the puppet master. After all, the little toy that dances and smiles at them must be so much more appealing. No one knows about me, no one cares. I've been pretending so long I don't even know who I really am anymore. Even now I dangle a puppet to speak for me because I want someone to listen.
I'm so fucking selfish. Why the hell would wonderful perfect Heero want someone as tainted as me? I'm not gorgeous, the best I could hope for is cute. I'm not strong or manly or womanly or talented or smart. Heero deserves someone as wonderful as he is, not some pathetic kid who never knew their mum, who's poor, who was raped. He doesn't want to know that bullshit, he wouldn't want to be near me if he knew.
God I should be happy he wants to be near me now after finding out these of so inappropriate feelings I have! There are so many things that if he knew he would worry about, he's such a good friend, always concerned for others. I don't care what I said earlier, I love him! If there is one true thing about me it is that I love him!
But I can't do anything. He has spoken; I am nothing. Even if he hadn't I couldn't do anything, it would be unfair to him. He would find out. About my past, about the lies and stories, about the blood.
Blood. I like blood, it's a nice color. Before Heero became my friend I would admire my blood often. No one knows but I have scars on my legs; that's why I never wear shorts. When I was younger I'd run around outside and get cuts and scrapes all the time, normal kid stuff. But I wouldn't let it heal, I'd keep tearing it open or cutting it so I could see myself bleed. It didn't hurt really. It was best when it was dark and it poured out, making my socks a different color. I liked when it would run down my leg and drip after me when I walked. My bedroom floor and the hallway have many little stains.
My, don't I sound morbid? Well it's true, I think I was near insanity back then because no one would fucking listen. Every day my soul died more. I cried back then, all the time but never where anyone would see, where anyone would know. That was before Heero dragged me back to the real world I had walked through and never saw, a blind invisible spirit wandering aimlessly. Before I promised myself I'd be strong and smile for him.
Don't ask me why I did anything, it is a useless case. Sometimes I wish that that time I had succeeded and killed myself. But you know, no one even fucking knew!!! They ignored me, everyone always ignores my bleeding.
Once I was making dinner and opening a can, the kind that have a pin and you roll it? Well the pin broke and not even thinking I grabber the coiled metal and pulled, trying to undo the last of the can myself. Cut the hell out of my hand and no one really cared. There was so much blood, dripping down my arm and onto the floor in a dark red river. It felt good but I was panicked at the same time, damn survival skills. No one took me to the hospital, all I did was rinse off the hand, wrap it up and go about making dinner.
You don't have to believe this is real but it is. I'm not insane, just sad.
But go on, ignore me, go away in silence. I don't care anymore. The truth is there and no one notices, not even him. I'm smiling and now I'll go to sleep because I have school tomorrow. All my thoughts have been slapped onto a nice little piece of white so I can dream.
Being a puppet isn't so bad, it's easy to make believe. So why don't I play along, smile and dance prettily on my strings because really...
It's what they expect.
Do you want you play along? Or will you speak into the void?