A Boy of Doubt

Ping.
Silence.
That is the sound of solitude, of loneliness. The razor fell out of my hands like butter smeared between my fingers. I grab my arm with the other, trying to control the violent shaking that will not cease.

The endless torment of being alone engulfs your mind. It changes you. It splits you. That is how Manic came to be. Manic, you see, is the nickname I give to my other personality. His name suits him, as his personality consists of sanity, suicide, and manic depression. He is my ultimate undoing and my Achilles’ heel.

She joined my life soon after. Her nails sharp like razor blades, her hair red as blood. Her silver dress has a silver belt that connects the top and bottom. Her beauty keeps me warm; especially when Manic comes to visit.
The weary mind of confusion is easily taken in by the constant murmuring of pain.

I spend my time alone in my room, with nothing but myself to be with. In the corner of the room sits my girl in that silver dress, silent and invisible to all eyes but mine. Every passing moment is another moment of loneliness… a constant reminder of who I am.

I can hear the cars whizzing by, the sound of a dog barking and the clicking of new shoes against the pavement outside. I am in my own little world, a secret place where no one else can enter. Only by breaking my link to my world can the girl in the silver dress truly appear. Manic rips me from my happiness at every turn, his strength much greater then my distraught will to go on.

I can feel the silence in my heart, the sound of nothingness echoes through my body and out my fear dried mouth. Its not that I want to stay this way, its just I have nothing left. It keeps me warm, it keeps me safe. Her silver dress shines in my eyes as she glides across my arm. Another shitty day, an even shittier place.
Metaphoric lingo keeps me safe from the outside world. It’s not worth the time of the “normal” person to understand the Chronic’s jargon. Learning and understanding is the enemy of the common person. No time to waste on others, no time for anything but themselves.

So I sit alone, misunderstood and lonesome, with nothing but a beautiful girl in a silver dress to keep me company.

She sits on my desk, secluded from everything else, my life spent on nothing but staying alive. I coasted through High School, nothing hard to do there. Now in college the toll of my plague begins to take its toll; the truth of absolute loneliness engulfs me in a fiery mist of darkness and smoke as everyone else skips hand in hand. Dragging me out of my world to show me how truly ungrateful the world is to have such abilities and emotions in their lives. Love is a gift, one that they seem to take advantage of.

I can only wish, as my wish do, to be just like my wishes; and wish to come true: words written across my journal, across my walls and through my head. My wishes are so long, so complex and so extraneous that I doubt I will ever fulfill them. Happiness is a wish that seems so far from me that I can’t help but fall part.
A dark shadow follows me through my train of thoughts… an unknown entity calls me and leads me where I want to go. I find myself walking through the cafeteria at my high school… curious of why I even bother. From across the cafeteria I can see the shimmer of a light. More curious, I follow the seemingly cleared pathway leading to your feet. And so my story continues…

I met you at school, we ate lunch together. You barely even noticed my existence. On the other hand, I barely even accept it. I can see the glow in your eyes and the humble wisdom in your heart. You are intelligent, beautiful, and all the words that would ever describe an angel from above.

If heaven does exist, you will be the one to make all others jealous. I don’t know why I even bother; I see that look in your eyes, and that yearning in everyone else’s. Everyone wants to be with you… everyone wants to be happy. I could see myself with you, your hand wrapped around mine, in bliss.

Someone like you could help me win; someone like you could help me defeat what I’ve been fighting so hard against: absolute destruction. My soul pleads for more, to see you and hear you and feel you.
Every second with you is like a million pounds of pressure lifted off my fragile back. My blood grows warm and my heart is fuller of life. Time spent with you, is time spent healing. Manic is my enemy, and we are at war. His weapon? The girl in the silver dress. My weapon? Well, I don’t really have one; but still I fight back in the hopes that you might join my cause and be mine.

Even my thoughts of loneliness and depression are swept away by the thought of you in my arms. To fall asleep next to such a beautiful creature would be to touch the moon with my fingers, nearly impossible, but, through the determination and the hope of my heart, I can do it.

I talked to you, and you hugged me. It was amazing. It stopped me from doing a lot of things that I would have later regretted. Your simple touch is enough to keep me from the loneliness of my silver dressed woman. I can still feel your arms wrap around me and protect me, your warmth keeps me warm even as I take this cold journey home. I showed you my life, the work that keeps me running, the most personal thing I have ever written.
Only two others have ever read what I’ve shown you. You liked it, you told me so; you even quoted me in your AIM profile. I feel special. I feel different.

Every day that passes by gets better and better as I see you walk in your moonwalk like state, your hair flowing in the wind. We walk into your room together, and just sit and talk. We talk and talk and talk, spilling everything I’ve ever seen felt and heard onto your lap like a rusty old tin can. You can throw it way, or polish it up. You chose the latter, and that makes me euphoric. I get up to leave, and you walk up to me, a smile on your face. I stare into the beauty of your eyes, curious, hopeful. I can feel your breathe on my neck. Slowly… without a sound or solid expression… I feel your head moving towards mine; our lips touch. A spark of electricity flies between us as we connect.

Amazing. I didn’t even see it coming, but I’m so glad that it did.
Instantly, Manic dies in a fiery accident. The heat and passion of love corrupted and destroyed him. The feeling of acceptance and love gives me the strength to send the razor in the corner of my room out the window, never to bother me or shine in my eyes again. And with it, Manic is finally gone for good. As my dreams have wished and prayed; I am finally free from my chronic plague, my chronic depression.
And all I can say is: “Thank You.”