Nobody | Teen Ink

Nobody

February 13, 2013
By Rhiannonbloss PLATINUM, Aptos, California
Rhiannonbloss PLATINUM, Aptos, California
28 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
What is depression really? Is there one concrete definition, or has the meaning loosened as our generation has continued it's downhill descent? To me, depression is simply my life. I'm not suicidal. I'm not a cutter. I don't hate the world. I don't dress completely in black. I'm just sad. I've been sad for what feels like my entire life, but that's not true. I was happy once and I can vaguely remember what it felt like, but I can't touch it. I can't get that happiness back, I don't know how. That's what depression is to me, knowing what happiness is, but never being able to touch it, to feel it.- Jenny Leigh


I was staring at a blank piece of notebook paper with at least a thousand ideas swirling into my head as my eraser dragged across the blank page, erasing nothing at all.



Distorting or geometrical illusions: distortions of size, length, position, or curvature. I knew all about that concept; thoughts and memories congealing making a soup of mixed tastes and feelings to drip to my throat with the agonizingly slow movement of a thick syrup, forcing itself through my unwilling body.



I wanted to write a story. I wanted to write something beautiful, as if it could block out all my troubles and I could at last feel the glow of success warming my heart.



I am tired. Are you tired? We are all tired. This is not my masterpiece. This is hopelessness speaking, guiding the hand with the one lacquered, chipped thumbnail because I thought I knew how to speak of love and beauty.



Hopelessness says, where are you going? What are you doing? I’ve heard those words from countless people that I have loved; My father, when I walked all the way down Alta in kindergarten, light up shoes smacking pavement with the first sparks of defiance. My mother; when every report card arrives, the predictable failure printed in unforgiving block letters, A through F, an alphabet of six, an even number because the odds are always against you and me. My brother; when I turn on the bedroom light at midnight because I can’t stand being in the dark anymore.



I wanted to write something beautiful. I wanted to be beautiful, not only on the surface but in the very depths which I bury myself, under a face that is not mine, not me, under flesh, under bone.



Where do I end, then? I never know. On the another anti-climactic note? Or do I fill endless pages with the one wish I have; rambling, broken sentences, a bit like myself.



Who knows? Nobody.



Who am I? Nobody- so it seems I know the answer after all.



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This article has 1 comment.


on Feb. 23 2013 at 6:36 pm
blueandorange GOLD, Jeffersonville, Indiana
14 articles 0 photos 63 comments
Perfect!  I love it!