Tipping Point

The light gave off a mind-numbing buzz, flickering and faltering as I walked through the halls wearily. The last thing I heard before the shaking was banging from inside the walls, like someone was trapped between, trying to escape. Now, there was just silence.

What happened?

The last thing I remember happening was I had just drew myself a bath, when I started hearing this thumping from in the walls. It started softer, but grew louder and with aggression, accentuated with short grunts and indecipherable yells, followed by the television beginning to go between static, on and off from the living room and all the lights fluttering, leaving me in the dark, a dimly lit candle left burning in the corner.

Twelve hours earlier:

I have never felt so overwhelmed in my life. The world just seems to go by so fast, and reality seems to be harsher than I can handle, or at least, the people are. Society has so much expectation for a young girl, and almost all of it is skin deep or maternally based.

I just left my class early, I couldn’t take the murmuring behind me followed by the giggles of mockery. Even from those I called my friends, there was always judgement, and today was not the day I could overcome it. My mom always saod you shouldn’t care what others think of you, but I don’t think she realized how hard that is when you are the butt of every joke and the leading disappointment. I don’t seem to fit in with the others, no matter what.

I can’t hear about people’s complaints about me anymore, even in constructive criticism; I just want to be enough, but at the same time, I can’t even take in a complement, and it is really messing with my head. You want to be ample as a person, but can’t believe it when it’s told to you – I think they say that’s mental illness in some form, not that I would know, my parents didn’t believe in doctoring the mind; just the body.

So me walking out on my classes affected them in the least, I wasn’t physically ill in any way, which meant I was fine.

But I wasn’t fine. Today I had to listen to them talk about everything that’s physically wrong with me, like my dad’s voice echoing from behind me. I should wear makeup, I’d look less tired or haggard and neater to be precise. I should go to the gym and maybe try watching what I eat, then perhaps I’d be able to get a partner and wouldn’t be so alone.

I hated it! I wasn’t enough in any way, in fact, physically, it sounded like I am too much. All of this circled me, like birds around a cartoon character after he’s been knocked on the head – impossible to ignore. They swarmed me like flies, and I could feel the adrenaline starting to build, the voices starting to echo:

You’ll never be enough.

I slammed on my steering wheel and screamed out. I needed to stop this, and talking to myself was only making it worse, but who else could I talk to?

I finally got home, opened the living room door, dropped my bag at the floor and fell to the feet of the couch, crouched with my head cradled in the seat. I let the tears stream down, and I heard the thunder roar, which only let me cry harder – I liked how it masked any sounds I made. I wish I could scream, but I couldn’t risk the attention in my apartment building, the idea of disrupting anyone was too much as it is.

My phone began to buzz in her pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “Mrs Turven”. I wipped away my tears and answered wearily.

“Hazel? What happened to you? We were going to discuss your entry into the International Student Writer Awards. Wait, why do you sound like that?”

I sighed, “Mrs Turven, please, I’ve just had a bad day, I’m very sorry, but I needed to leave.”

“Listen Hazel, I hope this has nothing to do with the other students again. You have to learn to let comments just fall away; dust them off and keep moving, but I find this very unprofessional. I’ve put aside a lot of my time to help you and you’ve left me waiting for more than half those encounters. You need to overcome this social anxiety of yours, as I can’t have endless patience for it.” The phone clicked away and I sobbed.

Mrs Turven was the only person close to a support system I had, and now I’ve let her down, too.

Just in that moment, I heard a shriek. I jumped up, and quickly looked for the noise, but saw that I was still alone. I felt weary – uncomfortable. The scream sounded trapped, confined in a space somewhere, maybe?

It was probably just kids playing in the distance.

I went to the kitchen and put a pot on the stove, readying myself to make some ramen when I heard my father’s words ring in my head:

You shouldn’t eat so much, you need to look good for the public.

And just like that, my appetite was suppressed. I walked down to the bathroom and peered at myself in the mirror.

“Disgusting.”

“Who said that?” I looked around, but still, no one.

I felt like I was losing my mind. I decided I needed a hot bath to help me relax, so began to run the water. I stripped down, ignoring the trails of scars my fingers traced.

“Do it again, weakling.”

I jumped around, hands whipping up to cover myself. “Hello?”

I started shaking, my mom would laugh at me now, she always said I was incapable of taking care of myself, and now I’m losing my mind: hearing voices, not even just their voices anymore, this is a new one. They were all laughing at me, circling me like a vulture, the gekkering of their laughter like a swipe from their talons.

The room began spinning, or maybe it was me, and all I could hear was banging, growing louder and louder, with a sharp screaming presence and tittering that still continues. They walls began to shake and that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore, I started shouting at the top of my lungs, the room going into a blur as the lights began to flicker and pop one by one, but when the room came back into focus I was face to face with a monster in the mirror, the laughter radiating from her, an evil glow emitted from the candlelight.

She looked at me and smiled.

“I’ll fix what they said, don’t you worry.” With that, she leaned over and blew out the candle. I haven’t left the mirror since that day.