My name is Anouk Borsboom, I’m 17 years old and I’ve been dead for 9 years now. From my 8 years of being alive I only remember slivers, negative emotions and facts I’ve been told later. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a zombie. I haven’t actually physically died, but somewhere along the lines when I was 8 I stopped living and started surviving. Ever since the attack on my life, surviving was all I could do. The one responsible, was me. Well… I was the only one directly responsible, there are many others who are indirectly the cause. I’ve been told I was a happy kid, calm but energetic and likeable. How did that girl end up with a death wish? Bullying, neglect, trauma, pressure, marginalisation, discrimination. They’ll never have to pay for what they did, I’ll never be able to get my revenge. Most of them won’t even know the damage they’ve caused. Still I ended up seriously and consciously wanting to end my life, I had even considered multiple ways. I was saved, not by someone who cared for me or something noble, it wasn’t even my own sanity. I didn’t kill myself because then all the hours I’d invested in my games would be wasted. I know right, very funny. Feel free to laugh, not like something so simple can hurt my feelings anymore. The thing with suicidal thoughts is that none of us really want to die. We just rather lose all chance of recovery than having to continue suffering. We just want to escape, disappear and leave our worries behind us. For me it was games and books, I was reading Harry potter by the time I was 6. I loved reading and I was a total bookworm. Now that I look back I didn’t enjoy it because the stories were so great, but because they were worlds I could temporarily hide in. Far far away from everything that bothered me. To be honest I have no idea how an 8 year old would have offed herself but eh, it’s where the darkness starts.
Dimly lit by light of her screen, hair tucked behind her ears and wrapped tightly in her blanket. Her pale face without a trace of the enthusiasm she shows her world. Headphones in, but no music plays. There’s nothing but silence surrounding her. Gritting her teeth and occasionally biting her lip she tries to make sense of her thoughts and feelings.
The dark circles under her red swollen eyes betray more than she wants to tell. With her mask off and no one around she breaks. Everything that had been building up that day, no even from before, comes flooding out. She wants to scream out for help or… say what she knows to be true. She fiddles with her accessories and occasionally touches her wrists.
She’s cold, lonely, numb. I shouldn’t bother others with my feelings, she says to herself. She feels worthless, a failure. It will get better she repeats over and over, but she can’t convince herself. She closes her eyes and sighs, the temporary relief gives way to crack of smile. It’s quickly put down by memories that make her cringe.
“Ugh, I’m so stupid.”, “I shouldn’t have done that.”, “What will they think of me.”, “No wonder I’m alone.”, these are the things that shout trough her mind whenever she recalls her “regrets”. All she really wants is to relive them, they’re happy memories after all. She longs for them so much it hurts.
She shifts around and lies down staring at her phone, lost for what to do. She has to write off her feelings, but not in a way where people will know what’s going on. That would be a disaster. Going past all her social medias she finds none that fits and instead almost automatically checks her apps. Sifting trough her subscriptions only watching for a minute before clicking the next video. She’s looking for something to entertain her, to grab her, though she doesn’t know what.
It’s not like she has nothing to do, in fact there are plenty unfinished tasks that reach their deadline soon. Meanwhile she tries to escape herself and the world around her. Reading, writing, watching something, anything to keep from overthinking. Toxic to herself this has become her routine. Numbly repeating the same useless activities, clasping desperately to her sanity by walking on the edge of reality. While others compliment her strength she colapses all alone.
Silence can be a razor sharp blade…
“Because everything you’ve believed to be true is a blatant lie.”
What do you mean? Of course my parents are my parents. I’m definitely Human. This is not a dream, how can it be? If I’m dead how do you explain my pain, my thoughts and feelings? You’ve got to be joking. Is this some kind of prank? It’s not funny. Stop fucking with me. You’re a filthy liar! This can’t be! I mean how can everything be a lie? Even all my memories? Will I ever be able to return to this “lie”? Why did you have to tell me this? I was fine where I was. It wasn’t exactly a happy lie but this feels so hollow. My whole world has collapsed. Everyone I cared about, everything I was going to do... It’s really true? All of it? No way… how could I have never noticed? So what happens now? What is true? Who am I? What am I? Where are we?
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance
5 Stages of loss, but what if it really did turn out that all you believed wasn’t true? That the world as you knew it was a farce? That there were higher evil powers at play? Could you handle the sheer devastation of your wasted effort? Would you be able to accept the new truth or desperately try to get back to what you knew and pretend you never learned “the truth”?
I know my curiosity’d get the better of me and try to learn of this truth and piece by piece lose my connecting to the comfortable lie I knew. If everything was a lie anyway there’s no reason to stick to it. At least I hope I’ll be able to let go like that, I already struggle with letting go of my past as it is. Beyond any reason why I lived a lie I’d want to know how on earth it was maintained. Besides will I wake up in a machine or something or am I not going anywhere?
I suppose the closest feeling i’ll ever get is after finishing a good anime or book and you just don’t know what to with your life anymore. When everything seems so meaningless and you ponder your existence. What if I was just a character in a very complex book? What is reality?
Maybe that’s just me though, hehe.
The end of the walking dead, life is strange, Okami and many others have made me cry. Not just games but movies, anime, books, worlds with fictional characters you get attached to and hate to see die. I used to hate crying over such “unimportant” things, but that time has passed. When you can’t cry anymore for your own story it can be nice to let go of all the cropped up feelings which have been stuck.
Why I care more for figments of imagination than reality? Because I was (with) them along their journey and witnessed everything they had to bare and everyone that they lost or had beside them. In my life I feel like one of those side characters, supporting the star of the story. I help out when things get though and people can choose to trust and care for me… or not.
Perhaps I don’t see the value in myself, think I’m pathetic for crying over myself when honestly sometimes I’d love but tears just won’t come. They say one who can’t cry is weak but how can I be weak after all I’ve lived through, I’m still standing and finally I’m getting side characters of my own, people who care. Yet my emotions are still a mess and I push away my pain to the back of my mind. “I have to keep going” or “there’s no time to recover” or worst of all “just grin and bear it” they’ve become automatic lies I tell myself and for what?
Responsibility this, moving on that, from what i hear adulthood sounds like an awful thing. We get excused for being teens or even kids, we still have to learn, there’s always adults watching our backs. One day though, we’ll be adults ourself and we’ll have to do everything ourselves. No more safety gear and supervision, just a net spread out across the abyss in case things really go to shit. I’m not scared, I don’t yearn for the past, neither do I look forward to the future. I just roll with the moment and don’t plan too far ahead since things never go according to plan anyway.
So for now I cry over silly things, because I can. Until I learn to become truly strong I’ll keep getting hurt and I’ll keep fighting back. No more hiding into fantasy worlds, instead taking them as a lesson for my own adventure which still awaits…
I don’t like the real world, the harsh life, reality. When I get home after a school day I just get back into my book or game to escape reality, to go to a nicer place, a place that makes more sense. Life doesn’t make sense, people don’t make sense. The game I like the most is Minecraft, most people find it boring, simplistic. I don’t see why, they say it doesn’t have a clear goal, but it has a clearer goal than life; you must beat the ender dragon to win, how vague is that?! The way you get there is up to you, maybe that’s what they don’t like; you can build what you want kill what you want and explore what you want, you can take forever to meet the ender dragon or go there as fast as you can. Life is different, life doesn’t have a goal, you can’t go on your own pace without it giving you disadvantages, you’re forced to go to school, to work and for what?! Numbers?! Why would I want to waste 2/3 of my life on things that don’t matter in the end?! I want to do something I like, when I like it. It’s so annoying that society doesn’t work that way. That’s way I like my fantasy world, where everything is perfect, where I can decide what happens next, where there are no unpredictable factors, where everyone is nice, where there aren’t age restrictions, where nobody is hungry and where fat people are banned as well as criminals. I know what it’s like to feel so terrible you want to give up on life, so I also know what should be improved.
The story of my life is for another time, I have to go back to the real world now, to make my lunch for school, I hate school, except ICT and Biology and maybe Art if they would force my direction less.
[Note: This was written when I was 14/15]