Discussion in 'Creative Writing' started by Echo-friendly, May 11, 2012.

  1. Echo-friendly

    Echo-friendly Member


    Four years ago something happened to me that turned my head into a dark little cavity, and even though it's been so long, my mind relapses at the most simple things and everything comes crashing back. All the emotions, the hatred, the numbness, the alienation, it becomes this inescapable, thick, syrupy mass in my chest and it's impossible to escape. It runs like molasses through my veins and slows my entire world down.

    There's only one way to even kind of relieve those feelings, and that is through writing. Here I will post all of the things that branch off of these feelings, be it poems, true stories, memories, anything. Here my mind will attempt to exist in peace with itself, but that will never happen.

    Warning, some of these posts might become triggering or graphic because of the things that happened.



    I know what I need to do.
    I just have to find the guts to do it.

    I think my biggest problem is that I never got closure from all of this. I never got to look him in the eyes and spit out all the hatred I have towards him. Never got to tell him all the poop he did to me, how much he f**ked me up. Four years later he still doesn’t know how much all of this has grown, how it literally f**king consumes me while he wonders around oblivious.

    He’s literally lurking in my unconscious mind, that’s why he randomly springs up in nightmares reminding me of how things really are whenever I start to feel happy. That’s why simply seeing his f**king face is enough to make me literally come crashing back to where I am now.

    Back in 10th grade I talked about some of this with my best guy friend at the time, Dillon, and he was the only one that didn’t really get upset or bothered by me. I understand why the others did, though, because I was so frantic that I’m sure it was irritating. He’s been trying to reconnect with me again, this is a good opportunity.

    I need to talk to him and plan some kind of meeting, and make Dillon go with me to make sure everything stays safe. I want to be able to look him in the eyes and let the hatred spill out. Anything to let him know what he’s done to me, even if it doesn’t bother him. I will tear this motherf**ker apart inside like he did to me, and that is all I need.

    If I can just have that, that kind of closure.
    Maybe I can move past this one day.
  2. adrenaline 2019

    adrenaline 2019 New Member

    Wow it is so amazingly written and remember I am here if you ever need to talk, I think it is a good way of getting it out you know
  3. Echo-friendly

    Echo-friendly Member


    A part of me is really scared of this meeting with N that I want to plan. It’s basically mandatory that Dillon goes with me, because if he doesn’t, so many horrible things could happen. Sure, he could do pretty goddamn horrible things to me, but then again, what hasn’t he done? My biggest fear doesn’t even come from those things, or even fearing him himself.

    I fear me.
    I fear my reaction.​

    I fear that the minute I look in those stone blue eyes, I am going to crumple and somehow just fall deeper in than I already am. At least from a distance, without seeing him every day now, it’s possible to hate him. But if I am standing in front of him, that really f**ked up part of my head might take over again.

    Literally just picturing his dark, cold eyes almost makes something like that come back. Because not many people look into them, but I remember the first time I did.

    It was my freshman year, the entire art class was standing outside, attempting to keep warm in the harsh December air. I was busy standing in silence, watching the air leave my mouth in puffy white clouds, it was the only thing that could draw my attention from the crowds of gossiping teenagers. I stood at the edge of the concrete slab, facing away from everyone, watching the dead tree lines sway and crackle in the breeze, but that’s when he pulled up.

    People had talked about a fight he had been in on the bus the day prior. Some butthole was f**king with him, kept throwing poop, spitting on him and bitching, something he had apparently done all year. But then N snapped, lunging from his back seat on the bus and taking the guy to the ground, wailing on his face. The guy only got one good shot on N, breaking his glasses and slicing up his cheek.

    So I stood there as N climbed out of the car, walking up and standing beside my cautiously, his back turned to the crowd as well. We had never talked before this point, never had any kind of real contact, but I had always watched him from afar in class because something about him struck me as odd. My eyes floated over towards him, and a piercing stare caught my eyes. It’s still branded in my memory, something that has never faded. The bitter ache hanging from his pupils, the resentment, the anger, the loneliness.

    I’d never seen him without glasses before, so in a way it was like seeing a side of him I hadn’t. The gash underneath his eye crept across his cheekbone, the scabbed, bloody detail just adding even more depth to his apparent misery.

    “What happened?” I asked quietly, already knowing all the reasons for the cuts that stretched across his skin. He just stared at me silently before shaking his head, shifting his gaze momentarily.

    “It’s nothing, I broke my glasses,” he mumbled, eyes locked on the bending skyline in front of him. Some odd kind of sympathy hung from my chest as I watched his eyes freeze over, fading into a place I couldn’t see. I shifted my weight so that I was closer to him, watching him carefully.

    “You know he deserved it, right? Everyone else might hate you for it, but I don’t,” I quietly breathed out, my fingers nervously coiling around the inside of my jacket. His eyes met my own once more, his stare was even more intense than the last one, but it held this type of emotion, as if he were talking through them. Some kind of gratitude, an understanding for the words I was saying, because he knew that no one else felt that way.

    It didn’t feel like we were just staring at each other anymore, it didn’t feel like anyone else could see the non-verbal messages passing between us. Where we stood was desolate and barren, everything else was scarred and dead, but the emotions that lie strung between our pupils and our minds were evoking strange things I’d never felt, and the energy was apparent.

    At that moment, I was aware that something was not right, there was something more to this guy that no one had seen before. I never knew until the following year that he had done this all on purpose, that he intentionally let me see inside him for a few brief moments, just enough to keep me curious and strung into place. We stood beside each other in silence, occasionally sharing a look, but mostly standing in each other’s company as we watched the decaying leaves spiral in the wind.

    It’s memories like those that make me want to see him through, past all the awful things he did to, to others. All the f**ked up things he said that following year. It’s things like those that nearly lead me back to where he stands, that make me want to send him a message just to hear him talk.
    It’s things like that which scare me the most, because my mind loses it’s grip and slips into a dark cavity in which I have no control. All I can do is hope that I never relapse and travel back to his sickened, f**ked up world.

    For this reason, I fear myself.
    More than anyone.

    Originally had this tacked onto the first post but I decided to move it to another post because the mass of text was bothering me.
  4. Dust Angel

    Dust Angel Unloveable. Staff Member

    I enjoy reading this; mostly because I'm a curious/nosy motherf**ker, but also because it's well-written, and not some cheesy fanfiction, but actual memoirs that help readers like myself learn more about you as a person.

    I've tried once or twice to write about past events with some people I've had falling outs with. Unfortunately it never worked for me, but I sure hope it does for you. Writing is possibly the best form of catharsis there is for an artist. I'm not sure if it's praise you're looking for, or just a place to store your thoughts, but either way: Nice writing (=
  5. This was really great! It was even better because it's like a biography that is written really well and sensitively. I get all the emotions you've been through and shivers ran down my spine a couple of times while reading this.

    You leave me wondering and I'd like to read more. I know that it's not definitely a story and you don't have to write about what happened to you and him, but I have a feeling you will. And I'm interestd.

    I also really understand what you've gone through. I had someone similar to him in my life and it f**ked me up bad. I hope you somehow got over it and give him a good punch in the face or something similar to that matter.

    Take care,
  6. I have to admit that I'm finding this incredibly difficult to read. It's wonderfully written, don't get me wrong, but I think from this, you and I have a lot in common. And I'm doing the same, writing these kinds of texts. When I go over them I feel like I'm going backwards into the darkest parts of my minds.

    But I really enjoy your writing techniques, it's very unique

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