Truth of Fantasy

Maybe my time is closer than I feel. I realised standing in the centre of my room with tears dripping down my cheeks and blood rushing from my wrists, that sometimes home is never really home. It is in fact the dungeon of all your fears and countless regrets slowly storing in the closet next to your room. Home is where your dirty laundry can be aired, and when it is, home no longer becomes the place of sanctity so many of us dream of. Home becomes the place that speeds up our time and becomes the place where our time runs out.
I slipped the blade into its respectful cloth and threw it in my pocket. I wiped the tears from my eyes and slowly emerged from my darkened bedroom. I quietly ran down the stairs grabbing a bottle of booze and searched for the blunt that I hid in my winter jacket. I slipped my shoes on and quickly ran through streets until I knew, I was as far away from my dreaded home as I could be.
Running away was an art form. The trick was to leave effortlessly, so no one knows. By doing this one could easily come back and not even be noticed they were gone. This seems beneficial, except the person running away always feels lonely, like no one cares for them, when really it is their own personal doing.
When I reached the grassy haven, I walked over to a tall group of trees and placed myself there. I opened the smooth glass bottle of alcohol and drank. You would think that a bottle so smooth and effortless would hold something just as smooth, but this just scratched down my throat and left me with the same burning sensation as the one on my wrist. I looked down at my mutilated arm and quickly took another heaving gulp of the clear liquid. I reached for the spliff in my pocket and lit it up and took a drag.
As I lay back on the grass and closed my eyes, everything came rushing back. The screams, the laughter, and the silence. What was it? Everything. It was every memory I had ever had.
The first was that one after noon. He wasn't listening and continued to yell. I was scared, as yelling was a fear of mine, which stemmed from a young age. It was from mommy and daddy constantly arguing. I was trying to get him to calm down, but he continued to beat down on me with his words, and eventually his hands. Sometimes I felt like he never listened, he would just assume. Today he was yelling at me because of a rumour that had surfaced from words I was conned into saying during a drunken stupor. I wished he would let me explain. I wish he would put his fears and own problems aside to listen. Instead, I was told to stop faking it and learn to grow up. I was told these problems were non-existent and that I was fine. The truth was I felt like I was fine, but as the pounds slowly began to slide away revealing every bone and joint, he knew I wasn't. His yelling although sounding like he hated me was from love. He was a loving man but could never connect with people appropriately because of the way his lush of a father treated him.
I crushed my eyes together in the sunlight trying to remember the last time I had aloud myself to binge. I could never starve myself. It was too difficult. I had to eat.
My arm started to buzz, bringing me back to my self mutilation. Who would know why someone would enjoy the deep incisions a blade could make on their skin. I didn't even know, all I knew was I could breathe when I did it. Nothing felt better. I took another gulp of the booze and finished the spliff. Everything became blurry and it took me a second to adjust to the new vision.
The drinking and drugs was always going to become a product of my.... emotions. I never would've pictured myself as an early drinker, as I used to oppose the constant offers mommy and daddy would give. Why? Because of the bumbling, brave, idiots they would become. Mother would openly fight back to fathers iron fists, and father would openly admit to the countless skanks he would bring to the shady motels in the downtown district. This openness, and stupidity used to force me to promise never to drink. But, one must always remember the path one seeks to avoid is the one that they follow. So, i would soon become mother dearest; finding this bravery in the pit of my hollow body, and would soon become father; finding this shameless honesty and would reveal my secrets. This is where I became vulnerable. My friends, people who i considered my family, began to use my liquid weakener to open me up and use me. I have been forced to reveal my inner struggles at the entertainment of them. I get mad, but what do I do in return? Drink more. Why? So, I can get the horrible feeling of violation out of my stomach.
The drugs soon followed. I had all inhibitions when I tried. It was all on the basis of my own decision, that decision being, i had nothing else to loose.
What had I lost? I mean many would look at me as lucky. The girl who has everything. If everything you me a completely dysfunctional family energised by liquor and blood, and a lover that feels his affection can only be shown through violence and horrible words then sure, I.Have.Everything. But, sadly what I had lost was myself.
When did I loose it? Well, it all started when my blood and reflection lost them self. After that, I soon followed. With each event I became weaker. The first being a dark shadow using me as support for its own positive outcome. This shadow pushed into the arms of a shiny, sleek, and sharp hero that would impress me by leaving his mark on the insides of my wrist and legs. Then when I was on my knees I put all my faith and emotional distress in one person, who soon stole my body soul and destroyed it. This person became the one I thought I always needed. But, after being used and abused i was left out of the curb like nothing had ever happened.
My choice partners where never clear. i tended to lean towards the ones who were soulless, and selfish. Why? Because it was the selfishness I wished I possessed. The character trait is what i need to correct my flaws. It was after I submitted my emotions and they were distributed to the public that I became weak. It was after i was finally able to open up to someone that I realised, they were not right. Because of this one moment I was given a reputation, that could not be erased.
From this point I was seen as a different person , and could not live with the constant judgement of others. So, the alcohol was the next step. I would drink to close myself up, only to be pried open by the ones closest.
See, my luck with people has never been solid. Instead I invest my time and love into people that trust, but really it is these people who slowly destroy the lives of innocent people. I always thought friends and family were the most important people in our lives. But really they are the ones who can hurt more than any other stranger can. it's friends and family who hold the instructions to your intimate thoughts and mind, that can destroy you. So, what better way to live, than to have nothing.
So now you understand how I lost everything. Some might disagree, but me; I've lost everything. I've lost once strong relationships, and I've lost my own truth.
So, here I am. My eyes closed lying in my own timeless state. The bottle of liquid now finished laid empty by my side, the stub of my spliff sat gently on my stomach and the blade sat, in between my curled finger, soaked in blood from my final path. My wrist were no longer the pale white they have been since my birth. They were tainted with angry, drunken and high cells. This path was the one I never wanted. It was the one my reflection chose, and all I wanted was to live the life she never got to. As my pale body was slowly drained of it's blood I fell asleep and knew I would never wake up.
The bright light shone in my eyes, and I walked up the narrow stairway, leading to my paradise... my heaven. When i reached the pearl white gates i opened them and white light overwhelmed my vision. When I opened my eyes, I was sitting precariously on a bean bag chair with a laptop in front of me. I slowly read the words on the page. Was I dreaming? Or where these thoughts connected to the words printed black on the white screen real. I looked around noticing the faded scares on my wrists and began to feel this uncontrollable feeling of overwhelming emotions. I got up and walked over to my window closing the curtains, then for some reason walked over to the wardrobe and reached back, only to feel the same familiar cloth. I then closed my eyes and felt that same feeling of violation described in the text. When opened my eyes i was standing in my room with tears dripping down my cheeks and blood rushing from my wrists.
This is where you have to be able to tell where is the truth in text and where is the fantasy. Sometimes our second chances never come, so we live through written word. But others find it hard to define the line between fantasy and truth because we are living both.