I Will Move On.... | Teen Ink

I Will Move On....

November 29, 2011
By NotWriting_Bazinga PLATINUM, Park Rapids, Minnesota
NotWriting_Bazinga PLATINUM, Park Rapids, Minnesota
33 articles 0 photos 34 comments

Favorite Quote:
"She thought in Italics and felt in CAPITALS." Henry James, Jr
"The terrible part is the truth is the only thing you want to hear.... but the last thing you want to admit." Casey Dalton

Have you ever felt like dying?
You think the pain is so bad that you just want to pull the trigger.
But you can’t.
It is like your finger is frozen.
Or the trigger is stuck.
So you ask someone to pull the trigger for you, but you know they won’t.
You know they won’t save you from this never ending agony.
So you go on living.
Slowly deteriorating into nothing.
You lose contact with all around you and you feel invisible.
At least you wish you were invisible.
But you know that everyone is watching and wondering.
You push the thoughts away, but they remain.
After a while you start to feel better things.
You block all of the bad thoughts away and begin to talk to people again.
But that question…
They ask that question.
The question that burns you and leaves you writhing in pain.
The question that makes the thoughts come rushing forward and stab your heart.
The question that has many disguises, but it is all the same.
It causes the same pain.
“Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“What is wrong?”
The cut you worked so hard to seal gapes open and the searing pain comes.
You feel the bile burning the back of your throat.
You want to buckle over in pain.
You want to run, but you are motionless.
You want to close your eyes, but you are like a deer caught in headlights.
They repeat the question and you feel the pain deepen.
Then, you realize that you are shaking your head and quietly repeating, “No.”
You feel yourself start to move.
Right foot.
Then left.
After you are finally alone, isolated, you stop.
You feel the tears on your cheeks.
They are hot compared to your blood drained face.
Torrents of pain and anguish flow into your heart.
You lean against the wall and slowly drop to the floor.
You rest your head on your knees.
You wrap yourself in your arms.
Hiding your face from view.
The thought comes to your head again, “Death is the answer. Just pull the trigger.”
Right as you are about to agree, you feel a hand on yours.
You want to look up, but you can’t seem to.
So you wait.
They all leave eventually.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass and you can still feel the hand on yours.
You think it is just wishful thinking.
The person left long ago, but you imagine they didn’t.
So you move your fingers and the person entwines their fingers in yours.
You feel something, but you can’t find the name for it.
You wait.
Because they all leave eventually.
Seconds drag on and seem to take too long.
The tears have subsided and the pain is mostly gone.
You feel the strength to lift your head and see your savior…
But the person you see just makes the pain come back.
The person who stayed with you is the person who caused the pain in the first place.
You try to pull your hand away, but they hold fast.
They don’t ask the question, but you know they want to.
You look away.
You try to control the tears you thought you had no more of.
You feel the person squeeze your hand and say the last thing you thought to hear.
“I am sorry.”
You start to feel relief.
“I am sorry for whatever happened.”
Your heart sinks a little.
You thought they knew.
You thought that they had realized.
You want to scream at them.
Tell them it is their fault.
But you can’t find the words.
You just stare at them.
“Do you want me to leave?”
You pause.
Not sure whether you do or not.
You nod, despite yourself.
They start to get up and go you squeeze their hand tight.
They look at you and smile.
You think about what words to say.
“Have you ever loved someone so much, that no matter what they did, you still loved them?”
They look at you for a moment.
You wait.
Hoping that they will understand.
But of course they don’t.
They shrug their shoulders and say they don’t understand what you mean.
You want to cry again, but you realize something.
They don’t love anyone but themselves.
You stand up and they watch you.
You smile and wipe at your tear stained face.
“I don’t love you.”
You say mainly for yourself.
You know it isn’t really true, but saying it gave you a new power.
You walk away from the confused person with a new confidence.
You may not, not love them, but you will.
You know you will.

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