Angst Crap

Yeah… So I’ve been on the edge lately… My options are running thin on how to handle it all. :stuck_out_tongue: So, why not right it down instead? It’s like complete shit worthy but hey, I feel better to have let it out. XD Some of the facts are true… others are added in with the imagination.


“She walks like a guy,” whispered one girl to another.

“She dresses like one as well,” replied her friend.

Her fingers clenched her books tightly. Middle school was bad enough, but now she was in high school. Sixteen of age, short almost curly brown hair, that was almost too disheveled to keep brushed, covered her glasses as she walked in a hastened path. Baggy pants that were too big around her hips were held tightly by a belt. Her shirt was at least an extra large for her small body. The blue jean backpack on her back was hitting and bouncing off her back.

The class room was loud as normal for the day. She sat there silently at her desk, sketching on white sheets of paper as the teacher boomed her voice throughout the class room- failing miserably to keep them quiet. The sketches were nothing fancy; just people drawn together. Her free hand twitched in an unusual matter that most children wouldn’t normally do. This was a habit for her. She watched as her hand stopped jolting, the fingers barely twitching finally. This was mostly a bad sign to her.

The work was so difficult to understand. Mathematical equations, numbers with letters, directions to follow that made hardly any sense to her- it was painful. Her other classes were the same way. It was so hard to get her mind to focus. Why couldn’t she understand this work? She never had been so out of reality which she couldn’t stay focused on the teacher’s useless blabbering of lectures that seemed so important but meant so little. By the final class, she had given up on staying focused and stared out the window.

It was Spring. Beautiful, heart-warming spring. The refreshing thought was taking her to relaxation. The birds chipping sounded her ears over the loudness of the students around her. The sun rays splashed through the window and hit her face.

No matter how warm it seemed, her heart was still under many thick sheets of ice. Nothing seemed to help her. The medication she was given from her doctor did little good for her. Even her counselor, whom she talked to every two weeks, couldn’t help her. She drifted out of reality too much. Her mind wandered as her body sat lifelessly in the world she lived in. Her blue eyes would stay half closed and become unfocused.

Before she realized it, she was in her bedroom, on her bed. Hot, eye burning tears barely streamed onto the pillow. Was she crying? Why was she crying? Her arm was in pain. It stung and ached, screaming at her for something she didn’t remember doing.

Blood. On the sheets and on her arm.

Her eyes widened in horror. What had she done? Did she lose it again? What would happen if her parents found out she had done it… again? Angry built up inside and mixed with her fear. Her heart rate went up as the blood ran hot. The thought of being forced to take more medications, the thought of seeing MORE professionals who thought they could help her get better was making her angry. She didn’t want their help. They would only give her more pills, more medications, MORE trouble to cause her family.

She clenched her fists tightly, her knuckles burning with pain. She had even cut her fingers open without realizing this. The light from the street posts from outside was giving her dim lighting. She got off her bed and stumbled over her book bag. Her bedroom door was closed. For the safety of her family, she hoped it never open.

With her aching hands, her fist hit the wall, making a loud thud. More tears came falling down her twisted face. With swift movement, her foot spun her towards the foot board of her bed. Again, she slammed her fist hard on the wood, making everything that was on it fall to the floor. She threw her arms around, knocking the stuff off her desk. The glass that was full of tea hit the wall. It shattered to the floor, spilling the liquid that was once contained in its wall all over the place.

Her rage did not end there. She kicked over the stand on her bed side, sending more stuff flying. The bed coverings were flipped up and threw into the closet as her next movement continued. Bruises were on her arms and hands from hitting things so hard. Her body was hot and sweaty as she breathed heavily. Again, her arm was twitching violently for more. It was unbearable, these feelings of disorientation.

It was a habit. Her uncontrollable anger. The constant snapping she did. It always happened when she was by herself; in her frozen world of anger, fear, hatred, and lost.

She use to have such strength, such will power to keep her cheerful. What happened to her? She had it all. A loving boy friend, a very supportive family, and caring friends. How did she become so distant? What made her snap?

It was the undying love. It was so wonderful. She made a single mistake. A mistake so horrible, it was worse than murder. It was more twisted than hate. It was so bad, the destruction was deadening to those with fragile hearts. Her heart was too fragile. A single mistake… tore her in half. That mistake was deadly. All she did was said little words that killed him- Her lover, her soul mate, her future husband.

‘Leave me alone,’ voices whispered in her ears once again.

“Leave me alone!” she spoke loudly. “Stop it!” Her blood covered fingers reached up and covered her ears. The voices didn’t stop. They continued whispering the words she had once said to him in her mind. It was painful for her to remember. Painful for her to listen. The agony of both her physical being and her spiritual being was twice as bad as it once was.

With her muscles contracted, the blood stopped coming. She was snapping again. Her blue eyes widened. She started to pull on her hair, snapping it from the roots. Her back slammed hard against the wall closest to her. She pushed with all her strength, as if trying to get rid of it before she did something without realization of doing it. It did little help. Her heart hit her chest harder than before. Again she slammed her back to the wall. More short and deep breathes. It didn’t help.

The window near her was the next possible thing for her to hit. With quick and easy strength, she slammed her right palm into the glass, shattering it. Pieces off glass fell; others were implanted on her hand and arm. She stumbled backwards and fell on her rear against the bed.

Hot tears streamed down her face. She looked at her arm and hand… her wrist had been cut open. This pain was… almost gentle. It was warm. Soothing. She could hear footsteps at a quick pace out side her bedroom. The people outside had just heard the broken glass. They couldn’t hear her over the television and the music until just now. But it didn’t matter to her.

She sat there on the floor, her arms bleeding. The chipping of the birds she had heard the afternoon before came to her ears. Though it was dark, she could see that sunlight, she could feel that warmth. Was this what it felt to be dieing? If it was… this was much more comforting than those distant words her mother spoke of to her so many crying nights. She could feel the blood flowing still down her arms.

The door flew open, light shined in. Voices of surprise and fear filled the room. She couldn’t hear them. She would never see them either. Her mind had drifted out of reality. The corners of her lips were up in a smile and her eyes were closed.

This… has made me cry…

Keep it breif. Overdescribing destroys it’s effect.

okay. I’ll remember that.

That’s part of the reason I like James Clavelle’s writing so much. “Yeah, we’re having a ball later today. By the way, [major character] is dead.” “Shame. Can I borrow fifty shillings?” It’s just such a mental roller coaster :stuck_out_tongue:

If God is responsible for not letting me see the rest of your Avatar then he is my mortal enemy henceforth.

Chris-chris, good… umm… descriptions, there. I’ve written some strange shit but this is pretty awesome. Keep up the good work, if you intend to.

Eh, I worte this in pretty much a bad mood. When I’m in bad moods, I get silent and extremly dangerous. That’s the reason I wrote this; Which was to get it out of my system before it caused me more trouble than it already has.