Raw
Disclaimer: I don't own YGO
Summary: This is Ryou - the raw, unpolished Ryou. This is what he feels.
Author's Notes: Based on life experiences and my own thoughts and feelings. I don't know why I felt like writing this, maybe just to get the self pity out of my system. It might be continued if I feel like it.
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Raw
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Ryou's POV
I hate online quizzes with a passion. Maybe it's because I've had troubling experiences with them before. Or maybe I'm just afraid to see what other people have to write in response to the questions that I may be involved in. Like questions about friends.
Who are your friends?
I pause at this one question to read what others have written. This quiz was sent to me by an online friend of mine and I was curious as to what she had put as her list of friends. I scan through the list and see my name, somewhere near the middle of the lengthy list. A satisfying, bubbly feeling rises in my chest.
Scrolling down, I found this girl knew Yugi-tachi as well. Just as I had remembered, their names are further down the chain letter. I read through their answers to this question as well.
Who are your friends?
I read each name in my head as they were listed: Yugi, Anzu, Jounouchi, Honda, Otogi and Mai . . . then it went on to include others that I didn't know. But where was my name? Why wasn't I on this list? Aren't I their friend too?
Deciding to ignore this, I scroll back up to the top of the page and began answering the questions for myself. I take care to answer them all carefully and precisely, never leaving anyone out and checking other people's lists to jog my memory on who else I may have forgotten. This was something I did for any question involving other people. I didn't want to offend someone by leaving them out.
Who are your friends?
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I've always wanted to know who I was in other people's eyes. I was probably an inconsiderate, cold, withdrawn and selfish person who wallowed in my self-pity instead of caring about others. I'm not like Yugi, who did everything for the sake of others and made sure never to hurt others with his actions.
Usually I think of myself as an angsty person – you know, someone who everyone should pity and be concerned for because they were on the brink of suicide. I wanted people's attention because I thought I was this kind of person. I sought attention everywhere I went.
Attention-seeker, that's the term some of my peers used to describe this kind of person. Someone who always needs the attention, who does everything for one fleeting moment of glory when they would be at the centre of attention, the most important person even in that tiny moment. Because they know, as soon as that moment is over, they would be shunned into the shadows and the background again, forgotten and ignored.
But no, I am not an angsty person, like I wanted people to believe. Instead, I am someone whose pain is caused by their tendency to blow things out of proportion and expect people to feel sorry for them and give them extra, undeserved attention. That I soon found out, from the lips of my closest relative.
In other people's eyes, I am just a pathetic teenager who is anti-social. Again, I used to think that anti-social meant that you didn't want to make friends, or were against making friends. But no, anti-social is actually a term used to describe people who are violent and had behavioural problems that lead to them not being able to make friends. And now that I've thought about it, it's true.
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Another one of those things I hate is the question: are we close?
That was in one of the quizzes I came across online. I hate – loathe, even – asking that question. And even though I hate asking it, I fear receiving the answers even more. I don't know who would answer that we were close, or who would answer with: not really.
Just once, I would like to see someone answer with: definitely, or yes, we are close. Just once, I would like to be able to have someone trust me with their secrets, instead of being kept in the dark about the pains and worries of the people I cared about. I hate seeing them standing around in twos or threes, whispering to each other about their secrets and telling me that: it doesn't matter, doesn't concern you or it's a private conversation.
Am I just not that trustworthy? Or is it that no one wants to trust me? How can I possibly know who I am close to if no one will give me the chance? I want to be able to say that I am someone's best friend, without having to doubt it.
The people I feel close to would often answer the question with: pretty close. How close is 'pretty close'? That's what I want to know. What satisfaction, what should I feel, knowing that a person I feel so close to only considered us to be 'pretty close'? Happy? Elated?
Are we close?
Sorry, not really. I think I've found people I can relate to more than you. It's not that you're a bad person or anything.
Yes, of course. Sometimes there are people you can relate to just like that. It seems just right that this person is the person you can talk to for long hours without getting bored, sharing each other's secrets. Sometimes this person is someone you meet by chance and you immediately feel that you've known them forever. Even if you've only known them for a couple of days, months or maybe even hours.
But it hurts, you know? I want to be that close to someone. I've spent so many years longing for a friendship that was immediate, strong and long-lasting. Everyone I've met has said that we're friends, but we aren't close.
Quality is better than quantity, as they say. It doesn't matter how long I've stayed by their side. What matters is how much they trust me, relate to me and how strong the bond between us is. It doesn't matter that I've known them for four, going on five years, because even a person they've known for two months or so is just so much closer to them than I am.
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Whenever I think of people hugging me, I see them driving a knife into my back. If I didn't initiate the contact, I'm not comfortable with it. I know I'm being paranoid, but that's the way I feel. I don't know when someone is going to leave me without a thought of return and I'm scared of the day they will.
So maybe that's the reason why I'm so reluctant to go out on my own and form close bonds with people. And maybe that's the reason why I'm sitting here, struggling with my own thoughts and feelings on this issue.
I want a bond like this, but I'm scared to have one. I want someone to trust me, but I'm scared to trust people. How can I possibly know what to do now that I'm at a dead end? Why am I so afraid of opening up to people? Why do I keep feeling as if they're going to use everything I tell them against me so they can humiliate me, laugh at me and make me miserable?
Pride is almost essential to me. I cannot live without my pride. That's why I try as hard as I can to stop myself making mistakes, saying and doing the wrong things. Because I know, if I screw up here, then it's going to come back and haunt me until I die.
So maybe it's this pride and this unwillingness to accept defeat that repels others. Who wants a friend who takes everything so seriously and can't take a joke? This kind of friend you would have to put up with and you will have to endure their company. No one wants to suffer like this, so I understand.
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It's difficult for me to let things go. Even if it's a broken toy, a piece of an old letter, or a used-up pen, I find that I want to hold on to it. There's no value to it – it can't be sold or given away to others – but I want to keep it. That's why there's so much junk in my room, because I can't find it in myself to throw it away.
In the same way, I hang onto the past, to friends and to memories. I'm afraid to let go of these things because once they're gone, they're gone for good. I know there's no way of getting them back and so I just want to keep them with me, to treasure them until the end of time. I know I'm too attached to these things, but they're things I can physically keep and know I won't lose.
I hang onto material objects because I know I can't do the same to people. There's no way I can hang onto the people I love and care about. If they want to leave, I have to let them leave, even if it kills me to do so. It's their life and their decision to leave me. So I just let them, then go somewhere private to mourn my loss, to grieve the fact that yet another friend has drifted away and found someone they can really relate to. Just because I'm afraid to move on.
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Each scar on my arm was put there on different occasions. The longest one, down the side of my arm, hasn't faded yet. I remember sitting in the bathroom for half an hour after my shower, just going over that one spot over and over again with a pair of scissors. I was too afraid to cut deeply all at once, so I did it slowly, over and over, until it bled. Then, afraid that someone would see, I hurriedly placed a large medical patch on it. Thank Kami-sama that it was winter then and I was wearing long sleeved shirts.
No one noticed the scar, even in its prominent position. Or maybe they've noticed, but don't say anything. Even if they do ask, I would tell them the truth about it. I felt as if no one cared about me and I can take physical pain more than emotional, so I hurt myself. Then I would tell them that it's nothing.
Of course it's nothing. What's so special about a fading scar that was put there because the owner of the arm felt insecure about their place in the group? It's just an excuse for attention, don't worry about it.
But that doesn't mean that it's not there, because it is. I can see it now, as I type. It's a thin, shiny, pale pink against my skin. Usually it's barely visible, but it's reflecting the light from the monitor of the laptop I'm working on. Just ask me and I'll let you see it.
I believe that a cure is only a good one when it hurts. I deliberately put myself in the most uncomfortable position when I have a strained muscle, just to stretch it out. A bruise only fades if you rub it hard and press against it. I apply the same technique with my own pain. Make it hurt more, so you can endure it. That way, the next time something like this happens, you won't hurt as much.
It's soothing, in a way, to be able to feel my worries fade alongside a strained muscle or the blood that leaks out of a cut in my arm. After it all ends, there's nothing left inside my chest except a feeling of completion or satisfaction.
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People have called me bitter before. And yes, I am a bitter person. I am actually many things, including selfish, proud, pessimistic and insecure. I've tried to change the way I see things, but I just can't. Every single time, something always comes up that makes me feel that the way I am is the way I'll stay.
Selfish, because I have now been wallowing in self-pity for four and a half pages, without considering what others are thinking. Proud, because I won't admit that I am wrong. Pessimistic, because I know that, from the day we were born, we were dying. Insecure, because I don't know where I stand in other people's eyes.
I try to be someone I am not because I know that, if I show my real self, then no one would want to be my friend. I know my real self, my real personality, would repel people, hurt them and cause them pain. And because I want to be like others, the ones who have no problems in getting and keeping friends. Secretly, but no so secret now, I want to be someone people admire and talk about glowingly, someone other people would want to be.
But everyday, as I pretend to be someone I'm not, I hurt myself. But hurting myself is better than hurting others, isn't it? Lying to myself is better than lying to the people I care about. And Kami-sama knows, when I care about someone, I am obsessively protective and possessive of them.
But everyone has a breaking point. Something will always trigger someone to do something about the pain they are putting themselves through. I have reached my breaking point. This is what I had to do about it.
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End
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Author's Notes:
I want to apologise. To all those who have put up with me, lived with my countless faults and had to suffer because of them, I want to say sorry. You know who you are. You've put up with everything I've made you endure and you've forgiven me, even if I couldn't find it in myself to apologise before.
Lastly, I want to thank everyone who has read this. It was painful to write, but fulfilling. I have finally gotten almost everything off my chest. There are some things that are better left unsaid and I will keep them within me, but for now, this is what I have to give.
This is the poem I wrote in English last year. I thought it suited this fic.
Cold, forgotten, silent
Encased in a cage of ice.
Lonely and broken
An angel without wings.
Fallen, tainted, lost
Haunted by the darkness
Pale and untouched
Hidden by a smiling mask.
Quiet, detached, harsh
Shrouded by bitter anger.
Perfect and stormy-eyed,
With the power of a tsunami.
Passionate, misjudged, hated
Inferior by intellect.
Confident and afraid,
Strengthened by weakness.
Cold, forgotten, silent
Shielded from the world.
Lost and untouched,
In a tomb of eternal darkness.
Screaming, shouting, shrieking
A victim without a saviour.
Unseen and unheard,
Tortured by the past.
Whispering, whimpering, whining
Lingering in the doorway.
Alone and friendless,
Slave to mortality.
Sequestered, omitted, severed
Pieces of a shattered heart.
Forsaken and wretched,
A spirit seeking salvation.
Watching, wanting, longing
For something denied.
Hoping and praying,
To a God who isn't there.
Screaming, shouting, shrieking
A cruelly mastered slave.
Lonely and broken,
Wrapped in Lucifer's embrace.
I've posted this poem before, but I thought it suited this atmosphere.
So I guess you guys might have realised it really got quite personal towards the end. Yes, this is almost everything I've been feeling for the past few years. Everything is true, except when I wrote Yugi-tachi and their names. But everything else is.
I think this fic is the one I have written with the most raw emotions. Though it hurt to write most of it, it really has helped me come to terms with my feelings.
Thank you guys for reading and I won't ask for reviews this time. I'm just grateful to you all for taking the time to read this.
Relinquished