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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2242512-BRokENchapter-2
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Dark · #2242512
We learn what kind of thoughts run through Fool's head. Not all of them are pleasant.
BOOM

I stare at the floor and the specks in the tile look like they’re moving and taking shape. I have something called pareidolia. It’s where you see faces in inanimate objects. It’s not a big deal really, just gets a bit creepy at times. Especially at night when I’m alone in my room.

Out of nowhere the urge to cry happens again. Normally, it happens once, maybe twice a day. Now, it seems like it occurs 5 to 6 times.

I’m on three different medications for depression and anxiety, Bupropian 300 milligrams, Zoloft 20 mgs and Trintellix 20 mgs. The Bupropion and Trintellix are for MDD (major depression disorder) and the Zoloft is for my social anxiety disorder or S.A.D.

I’m not sure which is worse for me, the depression or the anxiety.

The depression keeps me away from everyone by forcing me to stay in my room and fight the need to cry. Some days I can barely get out of the bed to use the bathroom. It feels like a hundred pound weight was put on my chest and whoever put it there left and locked the door behind them. Even if the weight comes off, I still can’t get out.

I’ve thought about suicide before, thought, but never acted on it. Emotionally, I would kill myself in a heartbeat, but I also have a strong sense of logic. Logically, I know it’s just the disorder making me feel this way and in reality I know my life isn’t that bad. There is a constant war raging between emotion and logic for absolute control of my life.

The anxiety makes participating in school pretty difficult. I can’t read out loud anymore in class. When it’s getting close to my turn to read my heart starts to hammer in my chest. I try to say the words, but my whole body freezes up and I can’t talk. I grab my side and dig my nails into my flesh hoping I could focus on that and not my psychotic heartbeat. Miss Pawlowski is pretty understanding when it comes to my… issues. She doesn’t force me to read out loud and it pisses the other kids off. She’s cool like that.

My dad tries really hard to help make me happy. I explain it to him that my brain is messed up and I take the meds to help make me feel better. He says he understands what I’m going through, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. He has told me to “just snap out of it” and “what do you have to be sad about?” Him just saying those things shows me that he doesn’t understand. I love him for trying though.

There’s no snapping out of it. I’m messed up.

“Yes?” I say as I hear my name being called. It’s this kid in my english class that always wants to talk to me about Dungeons and Dragons ever since I said that it sounded cool. One time. His name is Darius Wolfwills or something and he has more confidence than most people.

“Hey, I bought the updated Monster’s Manual on Saturday. It’s pretty badass. I’m going to have a campaign at my house this weekend with some of the guys if you want to come.”

“That sounds awesome.” I say looking to see who else is in the room so far.

“Sweet, I’ll tell the guys to expect--”

“Unfortunately, I have to help my Dad out at my Grandma’s house. We’re chopping wood... with axes… and saws.” Which is complete B.S. of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well that sucks.” He says, sounding disappointed. “Maybe next weekend. If you give your Mom and Dad enough notice they might be cool with it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I smile. He doesn’t need to know that my mom is dead either.

“Excuse me’” I hear a soft voice say from right behind me.

I turn around and Tara Thomas is right in front of me. My face heats up and my heart suddenly begins to pound in my chest. Stepping out of the way seems to be troublesome for me as I knock over a huge stack of old dictionaries that were right next to me.

“You okay?” She says as a laugh escapes her lips.

I try to talk. I want to make a joke out of it. I want to make her laugh so she can see that I’m not weird. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be able to make eye contact with her without feeling like I need to puke. I want to be someone else. Anybody else.

Anyone, but me.

Tears fill my eyes as I gently push past her and make a run for it down the hallway to the nearest bathroom. I burst into the stall, sobbing as I cover my mouth to muffle the noise that forces its way out of me..

Why do I have to be this way?

Reaching into my back pocket I pull out my cell phone and get ready to call my dad.

I feel my sadness sliding into anger. I whip around and kick the stall door as hard as I can and it flies open as some other guys come walking in.

“Oh my God, Dude! What the hell?!” One of them yelps as he jumps back.

“Bro, you okay?” Another one says.

My mind is just a garbage disposal of thoughts and emotions that just run together like so much trash in a dumpster.

Calm down.

Breathe.

I try to control myself. I swear I do. I swear.

The guys all back towards the door as I begin to scream. I scream so hard that I can feel my throat starting to tear. There is a guy in the mirror glaring. He beckons me towards him wanting to fight.

“I hate you.” He whispers.

“I HATE YOU!”

Pain bursts across my forehead when the kid in the mirror runs at me slamming his head into mine.

I topple backwards and crumple to the floor. There is blood running down my face and pooling on the floor.

“Oh my God!!!” One guy yells as they all run back into the hallway. I listen as their running footsteps fade away.

I lie there on the filthy floor of the boy’s bathroom and I can see a face in the pipes underneath one of the sinks. I wonder why my mind makes that connection with objects and patterns.

It has been so long since I had an outburst like this. I’m afraid to get up and see what I did to myself. Lydia is going to murder me when she sees what I’ve done. Lydia and I attempt to steer each other when we see that we’re slipping into the dark places.

Tears blend with blood as it pools beneath my head. I watch closely as the redness fills in the cracks on the bathroom floor.

I feel better.

When a bomb goes off there is a concussive blast that rips apart whatever is closest to it. Buildings, cars and people are torn apart and thrown violently in all directions. Debris, dirt and dust fly into the air covering the environment with soot and ash. Shortly after the carnage, there is a calm as the world goes back to normal for just a moment. Quickly the chaos makes itself known again as soon as the consequences of the detonation are known.

The door bursts open and the principal and vice principal come crashing into the bathroom.

“Jesus Christ!” The vice principal says shocked when he sees what I’ve done.

The principal crouches down next to me and touches my shoulder softly.

“What happened? Did someone do this to you?” He asks genuinely concerned for my well being. “Tell me what happened.”

“There was an explosion…”
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