Fragility and beauty; a Porcelain Doll.
To me, feeling like an all inclusive waste of space was the daily routine. And that wasn't about to change this specific morning. Much to my dismay, it was worse. I couldn't think of one single reason to keep going for.
Hearing the already busy street outside my window, I couldn't even bring myself to uncover my frigid body, shaggy hair falling over my face bringing darkness over me making even more difficult to overcome the desire to drift off to sleep. I felt the necessity to stay trapped under and coiled within the warm duvet. To drift off to dream land where I could be free and imagine all weight being lifted off my shoulders at least for a few moments. The moments I so cherished and wished upon. I would sleep the remainder of my worthless life if I had the option. Believe me, I would.
I have thought about suicide countless times. Images always going through my head of ways I could take my life, but to be honest, I'm a coward. I would never be able to put those thoughts into action. I'm too scared to find out what happens after you die. What awaits you and wether it's something positive or negative. I think of it as too much of a risk. But that still doesn't stop me from my suicidal thoughts.
Nothing revolving around me seemed good enough for me to remain "awake". Everything about my life seemed pointless. It was as if I was only there as a punishment to my parents and the rest of society. A very vile punishment indeed. I feel pity for them all, having to see my freaking face all the damned time and put up with my "oddities". But I wished they knew that just as I am a burden to them, I am to my self.
And the whole world seems to be against me.
My parents, well they don't even seem like they are. It was as if I just appeared out of no where in their household and they just decided to keep me out of benevolence providing me the necessities of a human being to survive, minus the love of course. I can't recall the last time I made eye contact with either one. And it's not as if I never saw them. They where always there, well physically, just maybe not spiritualy. Only the most slight interaction was made between me and them. As if I was a stranger and it felt awkward to be around me.
Sometimes I feel as if they were robots. Silly I know. But can you blame me? Me being their only child and never one sing of affection given? Not one single Birthday party ever, or a family day out to the park or something. But believe it or not I learned to live with it. Deep down it hurts. My soul tears apart every time I think about it, but there's really nothing I can do about it, and that builds up my depression even more.
School being the worst, basically hell. Every school morning I would purposely try and miss the bus so I could walk, dragging my feet ever so slowly with the painful weight my backpack put on my fragile back, only knowing I was procrastinating my suffering. I was there even thirty minutes after the bell rang twice a week, sometimes missing first period entirely. I always sat at the back of the classroom but I could still hear murmuring and snickering and I always made up some words like freak and weirdo after fits of laughter. I always knew they were talking about me, sometimes they stole glances at me when they though I was unaware. And tough no physical harm was ever applied, words can really sting and cause some of the worst emotional trauma. Words are probably the most lethal weapon.
I recall to my childhood days. They don't seem much different from now. The only thing I had back then that I don't have now is the innocence. I remember staying in my room all day starring out the window most of the time. I was never allowed outside. I watched the neighbors play willing to do the same.
One specific time, at the age of seven or eight I remember sitting on the edge of the window in my roomroom. Looking down at the yellowish green dry grass laying way below my swaying feet. The wind blowing gently against my skin. I was really enjoying that moment when all of a sudden something hard made contact with my fragile skin. I felt an instant pain in my right cheek. A stinging burning sensation. With the corner of my eye I saw an object land on the wooden floor of my bed room. I brought my fingertips up to touch my stinging cheek, rubbing against the probably now red skin. I heard a loud squeaky voice yell at my direction.
"Hey Frank, what are you doing up there? Trying to fly?" I looked across the street and spotted Ritchie, the neighbor.
"Don't be stupid. Humans can't fly." I shouted.
"Oh, so you're a human? Then why don't you look like it? Are you an Alien?" He laughed.
That was the first time I ever felt rage. I looked back inside my room and spotted the average sized rock Ritchie had thrown at me. I went to pick it up and examine it throwing it up in the air and catching it. A small stinging pain making it's way through my palm. I made my way back to the window climbing on the edge. Looking across the street I saw Ritchie still standing in front of the lawn turned away from me motioning to his dog. I examined the rock again, it had sharp bumps and a dark maroon color. I brought my arm back holding the rock tightly and with might sent the rock flying across the street and into Richie's lawn. I saw it make it's way above the pavement and land on Ritchie's small blonde head.
A loud cry emitted out of Ritchie's mouth was heard and so was a loud bark coming from Ritchie's dog which I later learned his name to be Octopus. (How I longed for a dog.) Ritchie went inside running as fast as his small legs could allow him, climbing the small entrance stairs and over the 'WELCOME' mat, prying the door open calling out for his mom. I immediately felt something at the pit of my stomach which I also later learned to be guilt. To me it felt more like fear at the time.
I don't recall why but I slid under my bed and stayed there until I heard my mom's voice cracking through the house calling my name and beckoning me over. I hesitantly left the safety of my room and made my way downstairs where I was met with a frightening sight; there stood my mother and father looking at me with a distant stare which also carried somewhat of shame. Also standing at the doorway was Ritchie and his mom.
"Frank would you mind exp-" Before my mom could finish the sentence I felt tears running down my cheeks.
"Stop it Frank. You can't keep on doing this! You are not getting out of trouble all the time by crying! Your'e old enough to know right from wrong." I heard my dad's angry voice.
"I'm so sorry Terry, I know Frank's behavior was one of intolerance." I watched as my mom explained to Ritchie's mom.
"It surely was Linda! I can't bring myself to imagine some bigger damage being afflicted to my boy by consequence of Frank's oddities! Ritchie was minding his own business and then all of a sudden he is being attacked in his own environment which is supposed to be safe. I have always known Frank wasn't normal. And this is the first time some physical damage has been afflicted to my son due to Frank, but Ritchie here has also admitted to be scared by your son's appearance. I'm afraid this will come to affect Ritchie emotionally. I haven't given you the complain because I know you can't do anything about it but this time it has escalated, poor Ritchie left blood all over my hand." Richie's mom ranted.
"Don't you think you're over exaggerating the situation? They're but boys Terry. Always getting hurt playing around. The wound isn't even that bad." My dad was next to speak taking a look at Ritchie.
Ritchie making a puppy dog face
"How dare you? He might as well be taken to the hospital for stitches. And just kids? You're talking about Frank. Wasn't it you , Linda, the one that told me doctors couldn't even decipher what was wrong with Frank? The kid can't even take a small act of affection without any sing of pain, look at him, it seems as if a single touch will break him. He seems made out of porcelain and as pale as it to match. That is the same reason why I don't allow Ritchie anywhere near him. I was afraid Frank would suddenly get hurt and Ritchie would be the one to blame. But it seems as it's quite the opposite! We all know that can't possibly be a normal child." Richie's mom pointed at me with a disgusted look on her face, her words stung badly.
And that was the day I knew I was abnormal and didn't fit in with society's expectations.
Greetings! This is my first try at Frerard, so honestly I'm kind of nervous. Due to the ideal, this story will be kind of short consisting of maybe 3-5 chapters. But first I have to know your opinions on it and if I should bother on finishing writing it or not. So if you could please review I would really appreciate it. And criticism it gladly welcomed(: