January 07, 2010

Best Friend

There is no greater pain than regret,

mainly because it consumes one's soul and burrows deep inside, deeper and deeper, until it cannot be plucked out.

Some people tell themselves they deserve it, that their past sins have made them into this unfeeling monster for a reason. Perhaps... It was meant to be this way.

Others don't see it so deterministically. It was a past action that caused psychological damage so severe that, against their better judgment, haunted them and cursed them. They try to free themselves by looking on the positive, and it works for a while. Like a regular citizen they smile, buy groceries, even laugh and sing. However, when the darkness comes and they realize that they are once gain with themselves, they can't help but see that monster in the mirror, staring back at them with unrelenting eyes.


The lamplight is giving me a headache, I'm going to shut it off now... Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, for my blog. I've planned to write about manga, and I'm falling being. I always fall behind. Regret. Okay. I'll read it.

This person reminds me of Lily. And me. Mint chocolate ice cream in hot chocolate, I would always give her a cup. I smiled so awkwardly back then. I was really nervous, like a true freshman. I really did care about her. It wasn't romantic love... Though sometimes it got a little out of control and I would think about the 'what if'... But... for the most part I only wanted to have a best friend. Finally.

After traveling so long and far, after not really seeing people, only seeing through them, I saw her. I talked to her, and she had loved talking to me. I grew absorbed into our relationship, ignoring the negative signs. The fights. Her warning me we were too close for being just friends. Too close... Is there such a thing? Is it wrong to have a best friend? Maybe... I don't deserve to have a best friend.... ever.

The tears were hot on my cheek, burning my eyes. It was familiar, an itch in my eyes that always dimmed next to the painful jump of the heart. Like the heart wanted to throw itself out of the body, suffocating in the cold room air. But, my rib cage prevented. The cage every person is forced to sing and dance in. The cage of mortality.

"Maybe in the next world it will be better." I tell my boyfriend, and he keeps telling me that's a crappy way to look at the world.

More than anything... I am sorry. I am sorry for being this weak and making him worry. I'm sorry for saying that I wanted to break off our friendship. I'm sorry for not being the best I can possibly be. To waste the potential in my body and contemplate throwing it all away. I'm even sorry for not having the courage to do that. Across the road, not up the river, they say.


I used to hear voices in my head, but it was never malignant. They didn't tell me to kill people or hurt myself, if anything, they kept me from being bored and made fun of stupid people to my childish amusement. They were like the commentators of my life. They sometimes called me stupid if I slept in too late, or risked temptation by reading a raunchy book or going online to look up porn. It was because of these voices that I became aware of my conscience. I decided to stop my childish temptations.

But, I never could stop biting my nails. My mom told me I would get gang green, and I even did one time, but I cut it off before it grew big enough to pose a threat. But, behind her back, or sometimes even right after she had scolded me, I would bite again.

Beyond all reason, I didn't care. I needed to consume myself, I needed that pain. To remind myself I'm still alive, to remind myself I'm still human, for whatever reason, I did it. Sometimes, it was as simple as being hungry.

Then, I began biting the insides of my cheek.

Over the next years, I couldn't stop being nervous, biting always. My lips, my cheeks, my nails, til my cheeks were hashed, my nails were stubs, and my lips were cracked. Even then, I bore the pain and kept biting. Like a dog refusing to stop eating, I got bloated on my own flesh.

I began to think I was the only one with this pain.

Then, either I went crazy, or I found a Guardian Angel. Talking in a soothing male voice, he saved me from myself, and taught me to love myself for who I was. He knew I was conceited, and smiled. He knew I was selfish, and held my hand. He would talk to me and be my friend, a better friend than any real flesh and body person ever was. He was my first best friend, my only best friend. And the sad part is...

He was only in my head.


Only I can understand me, I kept saying to everyone. Why should I trust anyone? They can't see this disease in my soul, growing, consuming me, they can't help because they don't know what it's like. It's a viscous denial that many people drop into. Because I couldn't believe anyone understood, I never thought anyone could help. I fought with harsh words and even blows to keep people from trying to help me. I yelled at the top of my lungs for people to leave me alone and cry.

The thing is, some people didn't stop.

My mom. My boyfriend. The two closest people I've let into my heart. They didn't give up.

Eventually. It happens this way. The person hurting either commits suicide, or wakes up and starts listening.

It happened once before, through a Guardian Angel, but this time God was in a different form. Not in my mind. Real. I had to learn how to be happy again. Smile. Laugh. Without getting sad and thinking on the bad side. Step. Step. One step forward. Two steps back. Three steps forward. Until, I can feel it, I am a different, lighter person.

I can't wait til that time comes...

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