My Lonely City of One
The world views and has always viewed me since my earliest years as a neurotic, extremely introverted, and passive goodie two shoes. Just a slightly raised voice, even if not addressed to me, would set me off crying and even now in my 20s, still makes me visibly startle. If someone calls my name I automatically rack my brain thinking about what I could have possibly done to annoy, displease, or offend the person. Nervous Wreck who does whatever necessary to get by unnoticed most accurately describes me....or at least the persona I allow others to see.
My psychiatrist has accurately figured out that I judge myself by impossibly harsh standards and believe I am worthless, deserving of criticism and mistreatment by others. What she does not know and I will never admit is that many times in my life, even as a child, I fantasized about living a life of cruelty, hardships, and tragic circumstances. By nature, I pushed away everyone who attempted to get close to me and tried to make them hate me, if I thought they might care for me. Don't ask why I was this way, because I honestly cannot tell you, but I treat even my own mother as a mortal enemy, who must kept at the furthest distance of anyone emotionally and psychologically, despite her adamant insistence I was her saving grace. In my mind I imagine that my mother's dead or lost custody of me as a young child, so I live in an orphanage or with a father&stepmother of a different race where I really am treated as worthless, beaten and left to fend for myself. My fantasies are and have always been my refuge from reality, where I find myself escaping to more and more often, uninterested in the slightest in my physical existence. Often daily life only adds more fuel to my fantasies. If I miss an easy question on an exam and get an unperfect grade, the internal me gets pays dearly.
Much to my mother's embarrassment, more and more people are beginning to realize what she has suspected for years....that I am not quite right in the head. The stares of others do not bother me anymore as I rock myself back and forth in my seat, gaze far away. My grasp on reality is slipping more and more as I withdraw even further into my own little world. I never wanted to be alive and death has never scared me. Quite the opposite I have eagerly awaited it, disappointed that it continues to elude me.
My dead and hollow eyes scare even me now....