What cannot be said
What cannot be said secret stories
  126
  •  
  1
  •   24 comments
Share

badwriter
badwriter 24 | Cat Lady
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
a bit of *language*. be warned and grow up.

What cannot be said

I am done with myself and I am done with this life. I am done pretending. Whoever finds this, I hope you understand what I have been through, what I am going through. You will know why I am so done with everything.

Pretending has kept me sane all the while turning me to a greater level of insanity day by day. I don't remember day that I did not pretend. Any thing and everything; I have been pretending about it all. Every one pretends about some things, some people about more things than others-- I on the other hand about everything.

We have to do it, my mother had told me when I first wept for all the drama I had to be. So did my my father and teachers and aunts and friends and uncles and some neighbors. Why? I had always asked. There was no certain answer. Just ramblings uncertain and incoherent. So I pretended like everyone else but more than anyone else.

I have pretended more because I never wanted to, because I questioned everything. I had to pretend to be sane and to be like everyone else because i never fit in. Even after pretending I never really managed to fit in. This emptiness has crept inside me so harshly over these years that I find it unbearable now. I am hollow, may be now I am becoming like them.

This specific brand of sanity that you have to present to the world has never been my cup of tea. I have always hated it. So, for the time I have been playing their brand of sane to fit in, I have falling apart due to the subsequent insanity and frustration. How do you ignore the obvious? I can't. I mean I have managed to but it is eating me now.

Mother has always told me to ignore. Is she not disturbed by all this? She pretends she is not--or may be she isn't really pretending. May be its all for supporting me into giving in to the drama. But I just had enough. I can't take this anymore. I can't live in this world pretending to be sane. Sane? Huh. What a joke.

I will most probably be dead till you finish reading this. I am just done. There is no more room for pretending. In the words of the BBC's John Watson : It is what it is. And what it is, is shit. There is no denying that. There is no pretending that this isn't shit.

I can see them coming. They are all around us, people that we have known for so many years. You have to ignore them. Pretend that they do not exist. Its the only way of being safe. Pretend. Fuck. They are alerted by attention, you don't make eye contact with them. Must go on about your own business. No sound affect them, only if you say their name directly. There is no cure for them.

I have taken all the pills in the bottle. 17 to be exact. I have written this note and a small filmsy letter for my family and friends. Or what's left of them anyway. I will call my uncle's name when the pills kick in. He is one of them now. There is no cure. Just ignore and pretend. I can't do this anymore. I guess I don't have to call him. I made a little eye contact mistakenly. They are zombies per se, but

quite zombie-ish still. I just wish they would have found a cure. But many of the scientists got the disease too. We were left with the mediocre ones. Ironic. One day all of us would become like them and there would be no need for pretending, no place for ignoring. But I cannot wait for that day to happen. My two uncles and three close friends are turned now.

I don't have much strength left in my soul. I was too drowned in thoughts. Three of them are alarmed. If they attack me, I will become like them and then the people I wrote the letter for will have to taste their own medicine. I guess that is the correct idiom--err, proverb? I guess the pills are working. They are approaching too. If more than 5 bite me at once then I am dead for sure.

That would be a relief.But these dumb fuckers seldom come in that number. Some where else the people would not let me die, other places are just filled with these filthy maggots. Won't let me die in peace. Here they come, still three. HEY JOHN!! LINDA, PATT COME 'ERE! HEYYY!! JOIN YOUR FELLOWS! No one else is listening. Ugh. Shit.

Edited. many people were worried for me because of the unclear work. I am very sorry that you had to be worried for me. Yes I have been feeling this way but the story was fictional. Do not worry for me I am good. Thank you all so very much for your concern. 💕💕💕

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store
COMMENTS (24)
SHOUTOUTS (1)