A Random Story

This is the first part of a story that I wrote in the small hours of the night, it does reflect who I am to an extent but it was easier to write it as a story in the third person. Sorry that it is long and I will post the second part at a later date.

The knife sat on the bed the light from the solitary lamp catching the sharp edge as she contemplated what to do. Should she pick it up and allow the edge to glide through her fragile skin drawing the blood to the surface, her soul singing as the pain coursed through her body allowing her to forget the emotions that were threatening to engulf her. Or should she go with them, allow the feelings to develop so that they could be dealt with and then cast away. But she was tired exhausted of always facing up to the same old things, she knew that the knife would win and that the number of cuts would grow once again.
Ever since she was a child she had locked all her feelings up, bottling them up and placing them on a long shelf situated in the room that was found in the darkest recesses of her mind, before locking the door and removing the small silver key and throwing it behind her into the ocean of confusion within her. Each emotion had its own colour, red for anger, green for jealousy, yellow for frustration, russet for regret. All placed haphazardly except for the one bottle which was placed carefully onto the shelf, protected and polished, a treasured thing as it contained the happiness that she would release a little at a time so the purple hue would fill her mind and obliterate all other thoughts and feelings.
The blue bottle filled with sadness and the black one filled with depression were separate from the rest, they were placed within their own box made of steel and they would strain and warp in her hands as she forced them in. Capturing them in a place that meant that for a while she could escape from them.
She would top the bottles up each day, or whenever the feelings occurred. But the first bottles soon filled so more were created, and then more and more, until the room was filled with bottles piled up, each creaking and groaning as the emotions tried to push the wooden stopper out. The only way to fit more feelings in was to open the door an inch and the just throw the feeling in before quickly slamming the door hoping that none had escaped. But as was always the case some did and she found them invading all her thoughts and not allowing her any peace until she captured and released them by either facing up to them or by catching them in her pain and releasing them out through the blood that flowed from the cuts she made.
The cuts were the only outward sign that all was not well within her mind, as she had created a mask to wear, plain white with the eyes holes cut out but not filled with the blue of hers but with the blackness of the depression that overpowered her. The mask was smooth and calm, no emotion was portrayed it was a blank canvas onto which others could project the person they wanted her to be.
The longer she wore the mask the more the smooth clean edges blended into her head, until it became who she really was, a nothing; a nobody. She allowed no-one to be around as she painted on the skin, the eyes, the mouth, the nose, creating the perfect face so they were deflected from the person behind. The shy awkward women who couldn't cope with her true emotions, the woman who struggled to comprehend the world. She let them see the painting of the woman they wanted to see who was calm and composed. But when the darkest part of the night came she found that the mask would suddenly slip and then she would be confronted by the truth of who she was. But rather than stand up and accept it she would run and hide grabbing onto the invisible edges of the mask and dragging it back into place just so she could hold her head up and face what the day had in store. And this was the time that the locked up emotions exploded out and so the knife came out and she sat and waited trying to decided what she wanted to do.