A Random Story Part Two

Here's the second and final part of that story,

She kept no-one near her, she built up the brick wall that surrounded her, reinforced by steel plates and concrete so that no-one could ever break it down leaving her secure within the tower that she had built. People had tried to scale the walls and break them down and sometimes they got through the perimeter but when they stood there and were faced by the reinforced steel bunker that contained the true person they couldn't face the task and just walked away back to the outer walls where things were normal and they didn't have to prove themselves.
But this was no surprise to her, she never expected anyone to want to get to the core of her and even if they did she would never let them, she would push them until they gave up and walked away, another broken friendship littering the ground that she surveyed. She always felt that she never needed these people; she was strong enough to cope on her own. She never understood why she should rely on someone who would just let her down and cause her pain, when she could lock herself away and save herself the heartbreak and the hurt.
She was never happier than when she was alone in the world just her and her mask and no-one wanting to talk to her or share with her their pain without being willing to listen to her. However there was a part of her buried deep that craved the easy friendship of someone who would listen in return and who would hold her close through the long dark nights. But this part was buried along with the other feelings that dealt with people, she wanted to survive as she was, she didn’t have the strength to cope with the thoughts of others and the needs that dwelt within her. She believed herself to be the strong independent person who never needed another person as they would just let her down and fill up the room in her mind with more thoughts that would prey on her.
But sitting there cross-legged on her bed she couldn’t help but feel that things would have to change one day. That sooner or later, if she did nothing the deception that she lived with would overcome everything else and she would never be able to fully recover herself to the person that she could be. As within her there was the promise of a person who was worthwhile and who was valuable and sometimes she realised this and made a list of all her positive aspects but the daemons that resided within her would always ridicule these thoughts and as quick as the positives had come the negatives would appear and push everything else out of the way.
She picked up the knife and watched as it reflected the light onto the lilac walls, holding it firmly in her right-hand she felt the weight as it lay there, feeling the conflicting emotions that passed through her as she considered the options for that night.
As she place the cold flat of the blade against her skin she realised that the demanding need had gone and that just by thinking about who she was she had overcome the problems for that night, and as she sat there she felt a small part of the mask fall away and at the corner of her eye a tear formed on her true skin and she smiled at the feeling of the warm wetness against her skin. And with that she replaced the knife back in its plastic case and placed it back into the drawer where it was kept. And as she lay down, wrapped up within the warmth of the cover with her teddy caught up in her hand she realised that she had just made the first step on the road back to the world, and although she knew that the road would be long and twisting she felt able for the first time to contemplate actually walking along it without turning back and facing up to the monsters and obstacles that lay hidden along the path.

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.