We try to escape reality with hallucinations that feel like we are in a wonderland that we created, and filled all the spaces with what our mind could imagine. Because life is too dull for creative heads like ours, where the possibilities are endless.
We believe that we know everything, that we are smarter than you are, adults think we're delusional. But truth is, we see a certain perspective among the world and its people. We see all shades, no matter the color.
We see the world for what it really is, a cell with walls painted in blue skies and cement colored green with fake trees. We are birds, born for flying. But our wings have been chopped from our bodies to keep us stationary, imprisoned.
We scare you because our head isnt ******* on just right. Too many thoughts bubbling inside our mind. We could tell you stories about how we think the world was made, but you won't bother to listen anyway.
We tell you that we don't believe in a god because even if there was, and he was oh so mighty and powerful, why would bad things happen to those who only do good? You would reply with an annoyed breath and say that maybe church would do us some good. "Your clothes are too revealing anyways, the preacher wouldn't be proud."
We tell you that were sad, and sometimes it doesn't feel so easy to get out of bed anymore, You would reply with a snide comment about teenagers these days and how society wants us to believe that we're ****** up in the head so parents will pay money to corporations for anti-depression medication.
We start to cry a lot more often now as the days go by. We thought that this sadness would start to go away, but now it feels like a lingering pain, after you stub your toe on the edge of the coffee table and scream but then its just a dull throb. Thats what life starts to feel like for us, a dull throb.
We try to open up to you about our problems, at least we're trying to seek help. We tell you that all our views and perspectives about life have changed. We say that we used to love living and cherish every waking moment. But now it doesn't seem so interesting anymore, we say that we're starting to give up.
Then you put us in therapy.
Thats when the downfall begins, we start eating less because society tells us we are pretty unless were a size 0, and besides we aren't hungry anyway.
We start sleeping a lot more, even at the dinner table when you're talking about you horrible day at work, we cradle our head in our hands and start to drift off, into a new dream.
We start skipping family gatherings to spend time in our rooms alone listening to music that no one understands, but we know the meaning. Once our therapist decides we're on the verge of a breakdown, they tell you and when we get home you sit us down and tell us that were wasting your money cause we're not really "depressed".
We scream, not at you, because you're a **** parent who can't handle their own children. We scream at the top of our decaying lungs because theres nothing left to do. We scream because the air that surrounds us is suffocating, all all we have left is that one scream.
You stand, stunned.
We return to the quiet spaces of our room, but it doesn't seem so quiet anymore, our head is as loud as ever. All this anger has built up for so many years, but not enough energy to do with any of it.
We wake up the next morning, our throat tight from sleepless screams. Your down the stairs reading the morning newspaper drinking ****** coffee.
Another therapy appointment today, she says that we need to go on anti-depression medication, because she's scared that soon we won't be able to bear the pain anymore.
We have it all planned, the note is written, left on the desk with the stack of school books.
All the pills we stole from the cabinet down stairs in the kitchen.
We hear you coming up the stairs, the door **** slowly turns and your face will be the last thing we see, because we already swallowed the death pills.
In the seconds we have left, in the corner of our eye we see the anti-depression medication.
Well look at that. You had to buy the ******* meds anyways.
And then we're gone.
First short story, kind of.