P I.5
Artist: Brendan
Like you, I am an alien inside of a human. Maybe many aliens, many ghosts, many spirit.
I'm tall, muscular but with skinny, lengthy features. I've split my head open five or six times. My dad told me I would fall and run into things pretty constantly but I always got up and kept going. I've some scars on my chin, through an eyebrow; a big one down the top of my forehead. A few more along my cheeks from acne. My teeth are jagged but straight. I'm kinda ugly, kinda cute; it depends on the lightning.
I was a sadistic introverted teenager. I hated my face. I had acne everywhere. I took so many medications (both topical and ingesting) to quell that shit my liver looked like a 45 year old alcoholic's by 17. Kids at high school called me a loser, they would mutter and avoid me. My face was extremely dry and cracked upon the hint of a smile. It was painful to speak so I'm glad no one saw a need to talk to me. My cheek, lips and hands bled all the time. I would take bathroom breaks just to sit on the toilet and bleed. School was fucking exhausting.
Even the teachers man, they looked at me like I was dying. Eh. It probably made it easier to get in their good graces through the pity. I was a leper. I dryly and painfully slid through high school in silence. I did my work and kept to myself. I slept almost everyday in class. I would read the books on my own and do my homework while the teacher talked at us. I think the teachers, for the most part, had too much responsibility to pay attention to the privileged mental dilemmas of a depressed young, white male. Plus, they aren't taught to deal with that shit; they just teach a subject. And, If they're good, in a way that informs the person how to apply it.
Almost everyday I would pull out the largest knife we had in the kitchen and lean on it with my stomach. It felt so cool and empty. It helped me forget my face was frozen. I would cry. A lot. I would sit in front of a fan to soothe my cracked skin. Crying is how I got my best night's sleep during those days. It would eventually clear my mind. My school acquaintances said I looked like I was always high; puffy, red eyed and tired.
I did everything I could to wash away the blemishes and my frown. The only thing that worked was time. I took an exorbitant amount of showers and baths on top of the medications. I hated so many things, but everything I hated was because I first hated myself. I escaped in music and video games. Drifting away from my physicality whenever I could through my imagination. I was misaligned with who I was. I was lost and confused.
I was a sadistic introverted teenager. I hated my face. I had acne everywhere. I took so many medications (both topical and ingesting) to quell that shit my liver looked like a 45 year old alcoholic's by 17. Kids at high school called me a loser, they would mutter and avoid me. My face was extremely dry and cracked upon the hint of a smile. It was painful to speak so I'm glad no one saw a need to talk to me. My cheek, lips and hands bled all the time. I would take bathroom breaks just to sit on the toilet and bleed. School was fucking exhausting.
Even the teachers man, they looked at me like I was dying. Eh. It probably made it easier to get in their good graces through the pity. I was a leper. I dryly and painfully slid through high school in silence. I did my work and kept to myself. I slept almost everyday in class. I would read the books on my own and do my homework while the teacher talked at us. I think the teachers, for the most part, had too much responsibility to pay attention to the privileged mental dilemmas of a depressed young, white male. Plus, they aren't taught to deal with that shit; they just teach a subject. And, If they're good, in a way that informs the person how to apply it.
Almost everyday I would pull out the largest knife we had in the kitchen and lean on it with my stomach. It felt so cool and empty. It helped me forget my face was frozen. I would cry. A lot. I would sit in front of a fan to soothe my cracked skin. Crying is how I got my best night's sleep during those days. It would eventually clear my mind. My school acquaintances said I looked like I was always high; puffy, red eyed and tired.
I did everything I could to wash away the blemishes and my frown. The only thing that worked was time. I took an exorbitant amount of showers and baths on top of the medications. I hated so many things, but everything I hated was because I first hated myself. I escaped in music and video games. Drifting away from my physicality whenever I could through my imagination. I was misaligned with who I was. I was lost and confused.
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