A Prison of One's Own Making

This story contains talk of suicide and emotional/mental distress

Freshly washed hair was in pigtails, and she wore a cute outfit of leopard print. There were some signs of tears and sleepiness beneath her eyes. There was a smile on her face, and it took all her energy to hide the vacant, hopeless expression that usually filled her eyes. Each step, hell, each breath she took was a major effort for her. When she spoke, her words were soft and to the point, almost as if she was afraid to speak. If approached, she would flinch, step back, and instantly place herself in a deferential pose. If you didn’t know her, you would assume she was just a timid thing. But it’s amazing the lengths one would go to to hide how they really felt.

Bullied as a child. Ignored growing up. Made to feel as if her very existence was a problem for everyone, even her closest family. All she wanted was to be heard and understood. For people not to cast her aside as if she were a piece of garbage simply because they didn’t like the way she acted. Told by one family member that they wouldn’t be in the situation they were in if it weren’t for her. Spoiler. They continued to be in the same situation even after her departure from their lives. And told by another family member during a time of grieving over a dear friend that they wished she’d never been born.

Eventually, she found love. Or rather, what she thought was love. They’d spoken of her moving in with him to start a family together. He helped her find her voice after so many years of silence. Yet, strangely, when she became brave enough to stand up to him over a minor issue, he, too, cast her aside. That wasn’t the worst part, though. She had agreed to keep the relationship secret, so when she opened up about the pain she was in, he spread lies about her. The only reason she’d come forward in the first place was because, not long after their breakup, he got involved with one of her friends. Who, sadly to say, believed him when he called her crazy, needy, and clingy. Said he was tired of consoling her from the results of the drama she got herself involved in. What hurt the most, though, were six words she will never, ever forget: There was never anything between us.

Afterward, she fell into a downward emotional spiral. Upset that he manipulated and lied to her, and then cast her aside and abused her. In her efforts to make sense of everything, she pushed people away from her inability to understand why, and because she continued to bring the same old up. Eventually, she fell silent, not wanting to upset people or lose any more friends. In this silence, her mind convinced her that everything was her fault. That if she’d only done this or that instead, things wouldn’t be the way they were now. And, with nobody to talk to, she believed these lies, and so silenced herself.

Years later, she finally found the courage to speak again. Sadly, one of her first ventures was not only into a controversial subject but also during a time when tempers were high. All she wanted was for both sides to stop being so cruel to each other. Perhaps she could have succeeded if she’d taken more care with her words. But someone she trusted and respected had taught her it wasn’t her fault or problem if others took offense at her words.

The details of what happened don’t really matter. But no matter what she’d done to start this fire, it should have stopped weeks after the inflaming incident. Instead, she’d found herself a target of hateful words and actions. She was harassed, witch-hunted, and slandered, the last of which was based on assumptions from things she’d said long before the incident, and things irrelevant to the incident long after. People found anything and everything they could, however insignificant, to make her seem even more of a monster. They didn’t even care about hearing her clarify what she meant. All they cared about was hurting her. What was worse was those who were silent either way, but who sided with the ones lying about her without even a second’s thought of finding out the truth.

This was her first genuine experience with the cruelty of the world. Whether she was vocal or silent, she could not escape their wrath. It stemmed from her cursed inability to convey her thoughts into words. All she wanted was to be left alone. To live her life in peace. Yet, as much as those people whittled away at her peace of mind, they only cracked her soul. It was she who broke it in her repeated attempts to redeem herself.

And just like before, she learned it was in her best interest to keep silent about it all. Because it left her with her own thoughts on the matter, she constantly wondered what she could have said or done differently. Even wrote up several “essays” to clarify her words, but nobody read them with the intent to understand. Only to find something to latch onto and twist. Yet, as often as this happened, she still felt the desire to try. Even when it became clear, the more she tried, the more she got hurt.

But, as much as this small group of individuals whittled away at her soul and energy, they weren’t the ones who broke her soul. That person was herself. Instead of letting it all go as she should have. To accept the fact those people weren’t willing to work with, help her, or hear her out, that their words meant nothing. Of understanding that people who attacked others for their beliefs while demanding their own beliefs be respected were hypocritical and not worth her time.

This was the hell she’d lived in for three years. People who saw her now looked at her and thought her weak and pathetic. Which she was. Now. Bit by bit, she’d crumbled under the pressure. Even though she knew this small group of individuals was the real problem, she couldn’t help but sit and think about it all. To blame herself for what she’d said and done. That she should have known better. Been better. She should have listened to those who told her to be silent on the matter. Realized they weren’t trying to steal her voice but trying to protect her.

Because of this, she looked back on her life. At all the struggles she’d gone through. What was on her mind now was only a minute part of the cruelty she’d faced throughout the years. No matter how hard she tried or wished it, she would never be happy. Couldn’t even focus her energy on the people in her life who’d continued to stay by her side. The only thing she could do was wonder when they planned to betray, abandon, or reveal their true colors to her. Of if, deep down, they wanted her gone from this world. And how badly any of them would miss her.

If pain and suffering were all she knew, then it was all she deserved to know. And if she brought nothing but problems and misery to everyone she knew, then perhaps the world would be better off without her. Thoughts of unexistifying herself plagued her mind to where she had even worse problems sleeping at night. And she stayed in bed till late morning because she couldn’t bring herself to get up. One might find her thoughts on that weak. But all she’d ever known was fighting and failing to be happy. It’s by far better to give up on something that will never happen than to continue suffering the pain of the journey, right?

Provided the chance to tell someone even this portion of her life, they would probably wonder why she felt the need to share her life story. Tell her to grow up, move on, and stop being a baby. Might even mock her for letting something so silly affect her. All of this she knew. But she just wanted to make it very clear when asked about the worst possible prison to be in, she could reply with: The one of your mind’s making.

This was what depression looked like. It was a constant state of faking happiness. Of always feeling like you were a failure and that everyone would be happier without you around. Never believing the encouragement others gave you because there was no chance you were worth as much as they believed. Desperately trying to hold yourself together, knowing that you could fall apart at any moment. Wanting to fall apart, but not wanting it to be done in front of others. To get things done, but not caring about anything. Even the things that temporarily relieved your aching heart.

She would hope that you would hear her words, and give her the reassurance she wanted, but couldn’t and would never believe. It would be her hope that, by hearing her words, you would keep them close to your heart as you went about your day. That you would take the time to compliment anyone and everyone you saw. To listen to them if they wished to speak, and not to make them feel bad for having to unleash some of their emotions. Make everyone feel seen and heard, because you never knew how much that could be the glue that held them together for a while longer.