I've felt this way before, several times to be exact. For a little while, I had lost that feeling and a sort of cruel bliss fell over me. It was cruel because I only felt different, in a worse way, but it was bliss because I did not feel the way I had before.

Do you remember the stories of those kids? The ones that would stay as late as they could at school because they didn't want to return home? Yes? No? What? What do you mean? What do you mean "what about them"?! I guess you don't understand, either. That's okay, I'll tell you. Why? Because I have a feeling you could understand, you could sympathize.

Well...yeah, I've felt like them, too. Except, for me, I did not wish to stay at school and I sure as hell did not want to return home. I felt stuck. I had heard whispers of the kids who were caught in between two hell holes and had to figure out which were the lesser of two evils only to find they picked the wrong one. Perhaps they are at equal lengths with each other in their own depth of darkness.

Still, I had not heard their stories and felt trapped. I had no solution to this. Maybe this is where many of the druggies come from. They can't find a solution or a way to cope, so they force themselves mentally out while physically they stay. If that makes any sense. I don't feel like I am as of lately. Making sense that is. 

If it is true that those kids have gone to the needle to help them escape, I'd call it a first class felony to remove them from such a state. It'd be beyond cruel to sober them up and make them face the horrors they witness. They can choose not to see it right? To look away, forcibly as it may seem. Perhaps they could look elsewhere. However, I'm brutally reminded. For them, there is no 'elsewhere'.

Then again, who am I to speak? I am not a victim of circumstance per say. I am not bullied at school and I do not face abuse at home. Instead, I'm forcibly ripped from my own comfort of music. I play it loud because I don't want to hear and I don't want to think. Yet, as a writer I am compelled to think, to imagine. So, I do. With music as my guide, I imagine myself elsewhere. A place I am safe, in control. I have no control here. That is my hell hole.

At school, I'm forced from class to class, sitting uncomfortably among peers. I feel feeble and small. I can't listen to my music here. Maybe I wouldn't feel so compelled to listen to music if I could write and read a bit more freely but then again, I have no control. At least I have several ways to access music. I'm limited on where and when I can read and write. 

So, here I am, talking to you. I sit at home writing this, sniffling a little. I feel damaged and done and maybe its just the hormones talking, but I want to cry at every little thing, fair or unfair. Its the weekend, there is no school to keep from home. There is no home to keep me from school. Ever. 

Before, this feeling had been here when my brother still shared the house with me. Now, I am not sure where to pinpoint the reasoning for this feeling. My only conclusion is that it comes from my music being severely cut from me and I from it.

How did I get so attached? It all started as a way to channel my anxiety, the frustration of the day. It always made me feel better. Most days it still does. Yet, I'm completely attached to it. So much so, I have gotten in trouble hence the loss of connection. I feel bad, making my mother angry but I feel hurt, too. She doesn't understand. I can't find a way to make her understand. 

Perhaps I shouldn't. One year left. Thats it and I'm gone. I can have more freedom. No, wait, I can't. I'll be stuck in a small dorm- until I get an apartment, at least- where I'll have little no privacy for my music. No privacy. 

Still, I'll find a routine to follow. I'll keep my head low and out of the way. They'll never notice me. I don't understand the horror of being invisible. My mother doesn't like it when I talk about it. Being invisible that is. No one to bother you and if you want help its not like they can't see you, they just don't pay attention. All I have to do is shyly ask a few questions and then head back to my desk to work some more.

Glorious. Being able to work alone without the thoughts and opinions, wrong or right, to cloud my vision. The freedom to do as I please without fear of holding my group members back. I'd only hold myself back if I chose not to the work. Glorious, indeed.

Like I said, it'd be cruel to take those kids with no way out from their single happiness. Their ability to feel, think, and do nothing. Its cruel to take my music from me. My single happiness. My ability to hide, to have control, to be guided, to take no responsibility. 

So, ask me again. I dare you. What about them?

Published by Autumn Jolene