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Depression in No-Where Land, what joy! Lola breaks free from its clutches.
Hey, you might want to know who I am. I'm Lola Geraldine Hargreeves, and I lived/live next door. No, I understand that you think that Mr and Mrs Hargreeves' daughter died 18 months ago. Yes, I understand that sweet, young girl looks nothing like me. Let me tell you, I've been through Hell and back, literally. Can I come in? Can I tell you what happened in those 18 months, locked inside my head?
I'm afraid i'm going to have to start where it ended. The middle of the day that started this all. My room. You see, I have one of those rooms that you thought was really cool when yøu were, say, 8. You know, all those pink curtains and purple duvets, a multitude of colours which now make your head spin. Yeah. I have one of them. When I was sitting in there one day, in a dark corner my mother likes to call my "Sanctum", I had a mini epiphany. I realised that in that tiny head of mine was nothing. Nothing worse living for, at least. So I started to slowly break down to nothing-ness. I gave up on everything. My parents called it moody teenager syndrome, the phycologists called it acute depression. I decided that the only way to go in this shitty old life is down, down into the murky depths of No-Where Land, where I was to stay for a very long time.
There were other people that lived in No-Where Land, of course, with cases worse than mine. Some tried to kill themselves, but no-one visited them in their houses. Because in No-Where Land, you have to be selfish. You have to give all your enegy into saving yourself. No one cares if you're dead and dying, or just feeling like being that. Most never go outside, just sit indoors whilst a lone candle flickers and fades into blackness and a pool of wax and fear.
The leader of No-Where Land is an alcoholic asshole, basically. He beats everyone up, he's a fucking bully. But bullies hurt people for one reason, and one reason alone; because they feel ashamed and lonely and insecure about their own live that they have to make themselves feel better by making themselves big and scary to others. The victims are the strongest and the bullies are the weakest. People don't consider helping bullies. I know it seems silly, but all you need to do is talk to them and make them feel worth it. Anyway, that's beside the point.
Now, I know that No-Where Land was a figment of my imagination; at least, I know that now.When I was "Under", as I like to call it, I was completely delusional. I didn't understand many things, couldn't talk too well, and only woke up at all because my body physically couldn't take any more sleep. Fucking hell, I wanted to. I wanted to sleep and die and slumber until the end of time, or at least until I was better, but of course I couldn't get better if I was just laying in bed.
I was in this house. People took me to go to the Leader. Scared. What to do? They pulled me to Him. He slapped my face.
"Lola," Mum asked, "what happened to your face?"
"Nothing, Mum." I had begun to hurt myself uncontrollably.
He growled at me. "When are you going to learn that you have to keep to yourself and ignore everyone in my fucking Land?!" He spat on me. "Well?!" He pulled my hair.
I remember thinking how vile and putrid His breath was, pouring over my face and neck. I met His eyes, once, and He slapped me again. I remember his cordless black pupils, His dark eyelashes. I remember His hair, bleached and frazzled, strewn over His head and forehead. I remember His mouth, chapped but with a nice curve to them, sneering at me as I begged for mercy. I begged. He broke me down and down and down until I couldn't move. The scratches, the cuts He made with a fucking knife, are etched into me wrists, arms, and legs are there forever.
New series I'm trying to write. Updates might not be too often, because I'm quite lazy.