FicWad

Alrite so this story was posted under another category but I switched it to this. And I'd really rather not say why because it's a LONG story. Really. Anyhoo, please review, not too sure about this story. But still give me some criticism. But don't be mean!

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Staring up at the ceiling there at my spot on my "bed",
I couldn't help but feel a sense of joy.
A sense of happiness, and bliss.

I should've cursed myself.

Doltish bitch.
You know very well no good can come from this life.
Give. It. Up.

But I don't.
I just told myself to lay back and enjoy that moment.
I didn't know it would be moments like these that I would cherish.

Moments I love because those were better times.

But not in the way you think.

Moments like this don't come everyday. I know that very well also.
But I didn't then.

Times like this.
When I feel comfortable to express myself publicly.
When I don't sense their presence.
When I can hold conversations with others and not feel the need to scratch at myself.

Never did I think this would happen to me.

Now looking back, in a way I want to hold on.
Drag that moment out as far as I can.

Sometimes I get moments like that now, but not as strong.
Not as powerful as it was then.

Back then it could do whatever it wanted to me.
Have its way with me.
Secure me in flames.
Cook me slowly from the inside-out and have me thinking I'm in a sauna.

I remember that day.
In my mother's arms at a crossroad.

To my left, Hell.
To my right, Limbo.

Before I continue, which would you take?
Keep in mind you think one's Hell and one's Heaven.
Keep in mind you have religion at hand.

Religion.
That's a very important rest stop.
Remember that.

I'm not ready to tell you which is which though.
I didn't know then.
Why should you know now?
That's not fair.

There are also times when I wonder.
What would happen if I went this way instead of the other.

There are times when I think:
"How different my life would be if they allowed me to stay in my mother's warm grasp."

I never wanted to leave her to begin with.
My brother was different.

He was small then.
So the way I saw it was: He'll forget me.

I'll never forget the tears I shed when my mother told me of my brother, waking her up early in the morning asking for me.

The tears I shed when I heard my mother's struggle.

But even though, things were easier then.
Now I'm not sure.

Now I battle "mental instability".
Now I battle blocking out the names, the sights.
Now I battle to defend my unraveling black silk soul.
Now I battle to not take you personally.

How can I.
Can I even trust you?
You're out to get me aren't you?
I know you are.
Don't lie to me.
Be serious.


GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME.


Stay in that corner.
I agree.
I surrender.
I will tell you.
Very few people know.

Therefore, if I let the paint hit the floor you must promise me to mop it up afterwards and perform surgery on your lips.

You have to assure me that.
Or they'll come after me.

Pinky promise?

Then I'll let you in my decimated mind.
To pick at my childhood.
Even though to some I am a child.

I am not.
Children don't know what I know.
Children don't see what I see.
Say what I say.
Mean what I mean.

So here's your chance to turn away.
It's okay.
I won't be offended.

I've been basking alone for a while now.


But if you do stay, I swear I won't ask much of you.

The only thing I request though, is that you don't mind my tears.
Because quite frankly, there's really no plausible reason available that you do.