a door to nowhere

I didn’t plan on spending my Thursday evening staring into the abyss, but there I was, white-knuckled gripping onto the doorknob. It was quiet inside, felt like you could yell and it would never bounce back to you. Somehow it didn’t feel quite empty, it radiated a cold power and something that made you want to jump. Fall. Endlessly. I knew it was all a lie, but I couldn’t convince myself it wasn’t true.

To be fair, I was tired and sick, and maybe a little insane. I still am, whatever happened I can’t get away from. There are days where I don’t notice as much, but I know it’s there somewhere, waiting. 

I got angry, I screamed. I gave up all reservations. I smashed the door to a thousand pieces, and I thought it would be over. Nothing is ever over, not really. Every piece that I had created disappeared the moment I stopped paying attention. I scrambled to pick up as many as I could, but when I reached out to grab another, all the ones I had were gone. The one in my hand when I looked down to make sure I still had the rest had vanished the moment I looked away. Whatever had been inside, it wasn’t anymore. It was out there, free. I felt my face going numb and my vision blurring but I didn’t realize what was going on until I was dead on the ground. Not truly dead, just about as close as you can get. 

I woke up a day later. It had rained. My clothes and hair were still wet. I felt like my skin didn’t fit me quite right, like my bones wanted something different. I knew I was scratching at my arms and biting my fingernails far too short, but I didn’t notice how much it hurt. 

I didn’t listen to a word anyone said when I walked back. I would say what they said, but I truly didn’t listen. I took a shower with the hottest water I could get to make myself feel further from the cold, but I couldn’t quite scrub it off. It felt attached to me, like tar on my skin and in my lungs. 

I put on a hundred different sets of clothes, but none of them made my skin feel any more fitting. They felt shifty and scratchy and too light or too thin. I forced myself into one of them and decided that was what I was going to wear.

I returned to civilization and ignored the words some more. Until I couldn’t. Something in my head compelled me to listen. To hear. I looked at the mouths moving around me, and I could see the same coldness that hung off of my frame. It was everywhere, in everything, and everyone. I wanted to fight, to hit my head against the wall and make the words stop, but I was stuck, listening.

I didn’t trust them anymore. Not even the people I used to. Every time I looked at them I could feel the presence in their eyes. They were dark and sharp, they sent bullets into my brain every time. I wanted to hide. But everything was open, they could see me through anything I tried to hide behind. They knew me and what I was and the thoughts in my head. They pulled the memories from my ears and my eyes and made me relive them. My whole body felt bruised and beaten, my legs felt like jello.

For months, every time I did anything, it felt like the cold was telling me to do things, to destroy the structure of every building I saw with my fists. 

I went back to the door once again. The leaves around it had piled and compacted enough to leave an indent where it had stood. The cold was everywhere. It filled the sounds of the trees and animals, it overtook the light of the sun, it permeated my clothes. Three feet away I saw my place, the indent I had left after spending a night on the ground, barely alive. I wish the cold had taken me then, so then I wouldn’t have to do this. This wasn’t living, this wasn’t existence. I had seen it for years, but it was everywhere now. I couldn’t get it off with a change of clothes or a pair of earplugs. It was everywhere. 

I was tired of all the lies and the talking. Why did everyone talk? Why did everything go around me? Why? Why do they treat me poorly and refuse to explain why? Why don’t I know why they’re treating me this way? Why do they listen when other people talk, but not when I do? Why do my words not matter? Will it always be this way? Will they always treat me this way? When will they start treating me like I am an equal person? When will they start treating me like the things I say have value and are true? What is wrong with them? What is wrong with me? Why are there so many questions?

I try everyday to make them happy, to fix things that go wrong. I try to be honest and helpful, but they just take advantage of me, constantly. I am far too tired to deal with everything that they throw at me. I can’t do this same thing every single day of my entire life, it doesn’t work like that. This hurts, it’s exhausting, it’s pointless and stupid and such a waste of everyone’s life.

But I do it anyway. Over and over and over and over again. I want it to stop. I want it to end. I don’t want every day to be like this. 

Get over yourself. Everything is not about you and your life and your problems. I am not at fault for everything that goes wrong in your life. I control myself and myself only, the actions of others have no bearing on my intent. Do not pin others actions on me. I will do everything I can to try and make things go well for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me, and that’s your choice. You can destroy your own life if that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t destroy mine for the fun of it. 

If you would just listen to the things I have to say you would see that I’m not the thing you painted me to be. I’m not the monster you’re treating me like I am. I am not that, but you choose not to see anything else. Your perspective is limited and warped by your personal feelings. You can’t allow yourself to disregard all other people’s perspectives simply because they are different from your own. If that is what you choose to do, you will end up alone after hurting every person you’ve ever cared about. Because you didn’t really care about them, in the end. You didn’t believe them when they needed you to believe them. Instead, you abandoned them. Completely. 

I’m going to give you one more chance. I will do what I can to fix the things you falsely believe I did wrong. But if you deny it, if you continue to treat me poorly, that’s it. That’s the end of whatever it was. You’ll look back one day and realize that it was you all along, unless you’re still too stuck in your own head to accept anything else. If you never realize it, I pity you. That truly would be a terrible existence.

I pity you, friendless, loveless creature. You’ve abandoned anything that would have lasted, you’ve ignored anything that would bring growth. You will never know what you could have been if you had chosen to be something else, because you didn’t. In your eyes, I am the monster. In the eyes of many animals in sanctuaries and shelters, the caretaker is a monster. In the eyes of every pet, the vet is a monster. In their eyes, their view is limited. If they shared a view with another for even a moment, they would realize their mistake, their misunderstanding. Choose, for once, to see through the eyes of another, and you may realize your mistake. I will always pity you, as long as you hate me.