They're everywhere On the street, on the walls, in my house. Crawling everywhere, on everything In my room, on my bed, all over me. Up my arms, through my toes, in my hair Taking over my mind, over my senses Covering me, suffocating me, killing me.
As the crowd moves around me I cower and make myself as small as I can My eyes burn and my chest hurts "don't hurt me" I think as I cry so hard my throat refuses to let me form sentences people ask what's wrong but I can't answer them "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Is all they can make out and all I can make escape my lips I'm sorry I'm scared, but I don't know what to do Please forgive me and don't hate me for the fears I can't control
I experience a phobia of crowds, and although it's not nearly as bad as 3-4 years ago, it's still pretty awful.
When thinking of fears or phobias you might think...drowning...the dark...driving...etc. But, some peoples phobias are different; as they are fearing true love or medications. As mine is oblivion, the meaning is I want to carry a legacy as nobody really knows the REAL definition. Some people want money, fame, girls/boys, the world as for me... I just want somebody to know my name, or to hear my stories or as to love me for me. Well, the truth about this is anyone can reach oblivion so why is it my phobia? Well, I know I'm nothing to be dwelled on or cried on. Well, maybe someone will but, will my friends stay with me until the end? WHO KNOWS but I "Suicide Girl" want to be known as someone who helped others to be known; then to be known myself. So I guess I don't want to be known or to be seen but one thing I do want is TRUE LOVE. So, whats your fear? Well, mine is oblivion as for I don't want to be known. Do you want to be above oblivion? Because I don't it's selfish and so known. ~A.E.G.
So...IDK bout this one so comment if ya like it. <3 ;)
My sister howled with the dogs at the end of the street her teeth looking more canine than theirs with her jaw-hinged open and her gums shining as she became every house in our neighborhood fingers woven into a chain link fence around her ankle as if to create a barrier between the throbbing and the cool ****** of the air. I couldn’t decide if her ankle looked broken-hearted or dumb, slumped over like it was on a bus, snoring and dreaming of the stop it had just missed. The sky slowed down to melt into navy and rosy tie-dye at the same rate as her ankle, although her face got there first and I swore I heard the sidewalk ***** lightening into her bone as soon as she landed, I brought it up every time someone knocked on the door or dropped a dish until she wasn’t there to bring it up anymore, but her hands always kept steady when she said she never heard a thing.
In the car ride to the hospital my skull trembled at the high frequency of my sisters screaming. I crossed my fingers that she would stop, but not too tightly remembering that ripe carrot snapping into two sound acutely aware that I had never felt my own bones living in my body until now how every pothole made them tingle and catch fire and I sat ghost-still until we got home.
I am a spread of limp appendages on a cold metal table when I get my first piercing. I imagined that I looked a lot like my sister when her ankle fell apart or each time she made sure to draw out her goodbyes as our mother fell apart. The piercer clamped down on my belly button with an instrument that looked like something you would use to snap stubborn lobster legs my belly button dangerously residing only a few skin creases away from my rib cage skin seeming too thin to protect bone when in the process of perspiring, like paper that has soaked for days. I hoped that rock won against paper in an alternate universe. Breathe in he said, like my sister couldn’t that day, breathe out and it was over and I was closer to understanding what it felt like to have a bone double over but I knew this wasn’t it it wasn’t even close.
When my sister died I tried pulling back my pinky until it collapsed in exhaustion from fighting back, but I couldn’t finish it off, couldn’t put it out of its misery. I wanted to know if death or a bone breaking hurt more. Sometimes my body flushes with the thick shade of shame at the thought that a shattered pinky could hurt more than the empty spaces, that I would trade my sister’s dead body for the safety of my own, that if I hide from broken bones in the soft confines of cushy couches and toddler heights, then what does broken feel like when it defines more than limbs.
How hard it is to really live your life when all your fears in your mind are strife; the fears that keep you hidden in your room afraid to leave in case those fears become realised in all it's gloom. Like the skies I cannot hold the pressure, feeling so very snowed under; With my mind in turmoil and at the end of my tether, I'm ready to explode just like the thunder.