Mugglers
09-27-2010, 07:09 PM
This is just a really short story that I wrote to sort of, get my mind flowing with ideas for future stories to come. I based it off my previous years, and hopefully you'll like it. I would be more than happy to receive all criticism, and tips on how to make myself a better writer. Thank you :)
Filling the Void
Most people don’t understand how easy it is to fake an outer shell, how easy it is to control how much of yourself you reveal to others. It does not seem like the right thing to do, but when you are different, you have to bend the rules. That is the easy part. Changing yourself to be socially acceptable, is the hard part. You need to learn how to act, how to feel, how to be a different person. My whole life, I have been adapting to the always changing standards of the world, and that is how life will be for me, for a long time to come.
My name is Jason. I was born on October 2nd 1996. I grew up in a good family. My parents were happy, my brother was happy, my friends were happy, and that was all that mattered. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t important to myself. It didn’t matter how I was feeling, because no matter how bad I felt, I kept it concealed. Nobody knew. Nobody had to know. If they knew how I felt, they wouldn’t be happy, and I would be the cause for their unhappiness, which would make me feel worse.
I learned that lesson in the 1st grade. I was constantly bullied by the same two kids who would always follow me at recess, call me names, tease me, and throw things at me. I spent the remainder of the day in my room, by myself, in the dark, just staring at the wall. My mother noticed my strange behavior and it began to upset her. She always nagged on me and asked me what was wrong, but I never told her. I told her that there was no issue. That nothing was bothering me, and over time, she seemed to forget about it. From that period of time, I began to stop showing my true feelings at all. I kept them locked up inside, creating a void that kept growing over time.
I specifically remember in the fourth grade, when my parents separated, the void grew immensely. Inside, I hurt. I yearned for someone to talk to. Almost nightly, one of my parents would sit down with me, and ask me if there was anything I wanted to get out. There were so many things I wanted to tell them, so many fingers I wanted to point. I wished I could scream and yell at them, make them feel how badly they hurt me. I wanted to do so much to them for making me hurt more, but I was always stopped. I said nothing. Their feelings were still more important than mine. Every time we would have a ‘session’, the sound of piercing silence always tore through me. Every time I would be confronted by one of my parents, I played a conversation in my mind of how I wanted things to happen. I wanted them to feel my pain, and stop being so selfish towards themselves, and think about how they were affecting me. But of course, I kept my mouth shut.
A year went by. Nothing changed, except how much pain I was constantly in. I grew more and more depressed each day. By grade five, things changed immensely. One memory would stick with me throughout my whole life, and up to this day.
At school, I began to hear rumors. The rumors stated that my closest friends, that I always hung out with, spent hours at a time with, gave my trust to, started to say how I was rude, ignorant, hateful, and they didn’t like being around me. I took this as a shock, and I felt the need to confront them about this. It was one day, where all of us went to the park, where I lost my only friends. We were relaxing on the climber, and I asked them, “People have been telling me that you think I am mean, and that you don’t like me. Is it true?” They responded truthfully, and tore me apart. They said they haven’t liked me for a while, and the only reason they pretended to be my friend was so that they didn’t seem rude, ignorant, hateful, just like ‘me’. As a 10 year old at the time, the effects were horrendous. I became a loner at school, a loner at home, I didn’t talk to anyone in my house, I completely ignored all chances of social interaction. I was torn apart.
To make things worse, I began to start taking therapy classes to help release some of the chained up feelings. I wish that I didn’t even open my mouth to my teacher sometimes. I trusted her, and I felt like she betrayed me by doing this to me. But I knew that she was a kind lady, and from the goodness of her heart, that was the least she could do to help me get better.
From the days after I finished my therapy, I knew I had to change again. I could not show any feelings of mine that would even clue someone in to my thoughts. I had to learn how to fake emotions, how to fake a whole different person. And I did. Ever since then, I hadn’t had any problems with kids at school. I kept to myself, minded my own business, and I even did certain things to make it seem like I was perfectly normal on the inside. Nobody noticed. Nobody clued into my behavior. Nobody cared how this, loner child with poor interaction skills and depressing behavior, just suddenly sprang forth as a new human. People must have liked me better, and it made them happy.
That was all that mattered.
As I write this short story of my pathetic actions as a child, I am still expanding my knowledge of how to be a normal teenager. I am still accepting that I will probably never be happy. I am still understanding how cruel this world is. But it will expand too. It will change someday, as will the people living on it. But in the mean time, I must discover more ways, to fill the void.
Filling the Void
Most people don’t understand how easy it is to fake an outer shell, how easy it is to control how much of yourself you reveal to others. It does not seem like the right thing to do, but when you are different, you have to bend the rules. That is the easy part. Changing yourself to be socially acceptable, is the hard part. You need to learn how to act, how to feel, how to be a different person. My whole life, I have been adapting to the always changing standards of the world, and that is how life will be for me, for a long time to come.
My name is Jason. I was born on October 2nd 1996. I grew up in a good family. My parents were happy, my brother was happy, my friends were happy, and that was all that mattered. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t important to myself. It didn’t matter how I was feeling, because no matter how bad I felt, I kept it concealed. Nobody knew. Nobody had to know. If they knew how I felt, they wouldn’t be happy, and I would be the cause for their unhappiness, which would make me feel worse.
I learned that lesson in the 1st grade. I was constantly bullied by the same two kids who would always follow me at recess, call me names, tease me, and throw things at me. I spent the remainder of the day in my room, by myself, in the dark, just staring at the wall. My mother noticed my strange behavior and it began to upset her. She always nagged on me and asked me what was wrong, but I never told her. I told her that there was no issue. That nothing was bothering me, and over time, she seemed to forget about it. From that period of time, I began to stop showing my true feelings at all. I kept them locked up inside, creating a void that kept growing over time.
I specifically remember in the fourth grade, when my parents separated, the void grew immensely. Inside, I hurt. I yearned for someone to talk to. Almost nightly, one of my parents would sit down with me, and ask me if there was anything I wanted to get out. There were so many things I wanted to tell them, so many fingers I wanted to point. I wished I could scream and yell at them, make them feel how badly they hurt me. I wanted to do so much to them for making me hurt more, but I was always stopped. I said nothing. Their feelings were still more important than mine. Every time we would have a ‘session’, the sound of piercing silence always tore through me. Every time I would be confronted by one of my parents, I played a conversation in my mind of how I wanted things to happen. I wanted them to feel my pain, and stop being so selfish towards themselves, and think about how they were affecting me. But of course, I kept my mouth shut.
A year went by. Nothing changed, except how much pain I was constantly in. I grew more and more depressed each day. By grade five, things changed immensely. One memory would stick with me throughout my whole life, and up to this day.
At school, I began to hear rumors. The rumors stated that my closest friends, that I always hung out with, spent hours at a time with, gave my trust to, started to say how I was rude, ignorant, hateful, and they didn’t like being around me. I took this as a shock, and I felt the need to confront them about this. It was one day, where all of us went to the park, where I lost my only friends. We were relaxing on the climber, and I asked them, “People have been telling me that you think I am mean, and that you don’t like me. Is it true?” They responded truthfully, and tore me apart. They said they haven’t liked me for a while, and the only reason they pretended to be my friend was so that they didn’t seem rude, ignorant, hateful, just like ‘me’. As a 10 year old at the time, the effects were horrendous. I became a loner at school, a loner at home, I didn’t talk to anyone in my house, I completely ignored all chances of social interaction. I was torn apart.
To make things worse, I began to start taking therapy classes to help release some of the chained up feelings. I wish that I didn’t even open my mouth to my teacher sometimes. I trusted her, and I felt like she betrayed me by doing this to me. But I knew that she was a kind lady, and from the goodness of her heart, that was the least she could do to help me get better.
From the days after I finished my therapy, I knew I had to change again. I could not show any feelings of mine that would even clue someone in to my thoughts. I had to learn how to fake emotions, how to fake a whole different person. And I did. Ever since then, I hadn’t had any problems with kids at school. I kept to myself, minded my own business, and I even did certain things to make it seem like I was perfectly normal on the inside. Nobody noticed. Nobody clued into my behavior. Nobody cared how this, loner child with poor interaction skills and depressing behavior, just suddenly sprang forth as a new human. People must have liked me better, and it made them happy.
That was all that mattered.
As I write this short story of my pathetic actions as a child, I am still expanding my knowledge of how to be a normal teenager. I am still accepting that I will probably never be happy. I am still understanding how cruel this world is. But it will expand too. It will change someday, as will the people living on it. But in the mean time, I must discover more ways, to fill the void.