Narrative Intermission

A tribute to self-harm.

Imagine a girl. She grew up in a normal household, normal friends, normal dreams. She does averagely in school. One day she wakes up, feeling tired and uncertain, though she doesn’t know why. The feeling continues long after it should, until it’s all she can feel. She talks to her friends, but they barely listen; they have problems of their own. She goes to her parents, who comfort and assure her, but by the next day they seem to have forgotten all about it. The girl changes her appearance to match her darker mood, but to no avail. Everyone else is doing it too. She becomes a recluse, watching happy people from the shadows. She can’t understand why it seems so easy for everyone else. Unable to share her world with anyone, she is completely alone.
Then, when she has forgotten what love felt like, from a desperate attempt to feel anything again, anything at all… she picks up a knife. She carves neglect into her arm.
Suddenly she’s bathed in light. People are lining up to comfort her. Her parents, in tears, apologize for everything and send her to a psychologist to get better. Her friends return, showering her with love. She finds a boyfriend who’s gone through similar trials and know how she feels. Life returns to the world.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the light fades.
People stop taking notice of her. Her parents are preoccupied, and even the doctor ceases to listen. Her gaggle of friends move on to the latest hot topic. Her boyfriend only talks about his problems, growing more and more dependent on her. The girl finds herself alone again. Wait! she cries, running after the world. Don’t you see my scars? Don’t you see that I hurt? But no one says anything. She stops. The light is gone. And the despair is back, empty, draining the life from her.
She has been abandoned. Betrayed. The world never really loved her. She picks up the knife and writes hate on her arms.
But this time no one comes to save her.

A tribute to loneliness.

"I was bullied when I was little," he said. He faced the room with a smile on his face. "I was one of the 'invisible children' you could call us. We were the ones you saw in corners, or sitting alone in the schoolyard. We always ate lunch alone. We played alone. No one wanted to be my friend." He sighed and shook his head. "I guess that was partly my fault. I wasn't very social. I wouldn't have known how to play with others if I tried.
"The thing that got to you, after awhile, was the loneliness. I used to tell myself I liked being alone. That I didn't really like any of the other children my age. The truth is, no one likes being alone. There's only so much you can do by yourself. Imaginary friends only last so long. There's only so much time you can stand no one talking to you. I was always picked last for sports or group work. When I spoke, nobody heard me. It was like I wasn't there. Most of the time people didn't even realize they were ignoring me. I was just... invisible." He smiled thinly. Too thinly.
"That broke my heart, it really did. Feeling as though I didn't exist. The times when the bigger boys picked on me for laughing or crying or just not being like them came as a profound relief from not being seen by them at all. I was quite the emotion boy back the, so I made an easy target. Most of the time, though, they acted like I didn't exist. I really can't stress that enough. For several years, as a young, developing child, the world was telling me that I did not exist. That stung, all right, but it never made me angry - to be angry you need a voice, and that's the one thing I didn't have.
"One day, though, there was this haunted house the older students had set up. And I'll tell you, that was one damn scary haunted house. I challenge you to find students twice their age who could have done a job like that in such a small space. We all went through, laughing and joking. I came out shaken. My eyes had been opened up, you see, to something- but that is a story for another time. The other boys jogged off, laughing and bragging about their exploits. I dragged myself to the side and sat down. Then this girl... her name was Alison, though I forget with how many Ls. She was sweet, with a good heart and a strong head, and I admit I'd had a kind of little-boy crush on her for a long time. She came and sat next to me. And I moved away. The most terrible thing... the one time someone was actually there for me, that was the one time I wanted to be alone. And so, for the next three years that I knew her, she, just like everyone else, left me alone.
"But you know what?" He chuckled. "Those years, those lonely years, made me who I am today. It took all that time to find myself, to bring out the courage I needed to be assertive. It wasn't long after that time that I began to talk to people. I had friends, for awhile. I started to learn more. Now I'm just as social as anyone else. And because of those empty years, I had much more time to think. That's why I came out on top in the end. I owe so, so much of my success these past weeks to those years spent by myself."
And he waved, and gave a little bow, and many people applauded before moving on to the next speaker. But his eyes told a different story.
They said, I will never forgive you. I may move on, I may laugh it off when we remember the old times, I may even thank you for doing this to me. But I will never forgive you. I was alone, and you ignored me. You knew that I was lonely, but you did nothing. You knew my voice was quiet, but you did not listen. You knew that I was sensitive, but you did not soften your blows. I am strong only because you hurt me. You took Alison away from me. I will never forgive you.

I've always needed an emotional anchor... but I don't want to live my life on the underside of an ampersand, you know? You get sick of being another roadside attraction, you get sick of no one calling you by your real name. I kind of miss the days when someone was dependent on me, when I could wrap a girl around my finger with a few choice words and a gentle kiss. And I meant it, too, every time. That's why whenever anyone helps me I can't resist thinking that I talked them into it. Even if I had someone who would lift me up out of the kindness of their heart I'd still use them to make myself ever more of a monster.
Twice it's been in as many days when I've pressed a knife to the center of my chest and prayed for the strength to go one way or the other.
Grav, I'm hopeless. I need to stop being so down all the time. Here's a joke. What side of a chicken is the most optimistic? Answer: the upside.