The Wonderland of Mine

"Good Night, daddy. See you tomorrow." I spoke with a soft voice towards my marble door, watching daddy's shadow disappear.

Hmm, a day spent well at cozy home, I though. Basic freedom, breezy sunlight, a kitchen to mess up with my still-in-practice culinary skills. Although it's a little sad being alone, at least I could be myself. Doesn't it feel extremely comfortable being so? Even though if I'm put through tough conditions, or even death, at least it's the real me on my cover. And that's all I ask for, a space to be myself.

Soon before I realised, my exhausted mind dozed off with my midnight thoughts as its lullaby. Across this dot, my souls has traveled into another dimension which its existence unknown. Only I can figure out the answer, but without an answer to search for. Confusing, ain't it? Well, people call them "dreams" or so. If I doesn't make you grin, then "nightmare"is its name. As what I prefer it to be named, "Wonderland". Inspired by Lewis Carroll. Finally, it sounds fair and mystical, good and bad combined into such a wonderful term. But the wonderland of mine ain't worth a smile at all.

"Tick-tock-tick-tock-ringggg....." a familiar sound woke my soul lying in another girl's body. As what it felt I was programmed to perform, I stood up and proceed to clean myself and get dressed. The first image that gave me a shiver was my uniform, hinting me that I was heading to an accident. Oatmeal for breakfast later, I sat my dad's car to what I call "Institution of Hell", as it was the only venue I was permanently coded to be someone else.

First step over hell's boundary, I could already feel the thickness of the air that caused me ill. The people around me, friends, rivals, unknowns, all made me felt lifeless in seconds. The inner me walked with an old man's stick while my cover seemed totally alright. Feared for conversations, I forced myself to sleep in the room I was ordered to be in. Oh, my internal soul, I meant. From the exposed, I looked like I was daydreaming through the rusted walls. Not even half a day was history yet.

During the break which I preferred as "Torture of Crowds", my coded self went to greet humans I envy. The hatred towards myself grew as there was no one else to blame except for me. Fortunately, I had control to get myself food so I could much my bites at a snail pace to prevent involving myself into any kind of chatter. My inner self teared up at this point, dying to wake up from this terrifying wonderland. Of course, a classical pinch stopped working since year 1865.

Back in our miserable boxes of erudition, my stopwatch was the one and only sight my eyes locked on. My traumatic brain calculated time to rain a drop of hope for my internal soul. Humans walk, run by my opaque body as if I wasn't an existence. Ignorance never tried itself as I guessed its outcome of waving hello. Sprawling on my dusty desk like a corpse left floating on the ocean, I ponder about why was this nightmare-ish wonderland fated on me, why wouldn't it accept a twist and just let myself be free for once. My rage grew but coding did its working numbing my unapparent feelings.

"Dear sun, you can rise anytime now." I begged in thoughts.

After what it felt like days, my real daddy snapped me out from a land I would die to never return. He informed me to get ready for a picnic by nine. I questioned him about school as the day's mad Monday, he answered, "Silly, yesterday was just Friday! Are you that eager for school, Alanis?"

And the cycle goes on.

Was that even a dream?

An Unforeseen Attempt

(Warning: Contains graphic that some may find triggering & disturbing.)

Around a week ago, a punishing covenant was made between my senior & I. One of its chapters is I need to stop cutting instantaneously which is scarcely possible. But I forcefully stroll along with it as the other side of the deal was something he must achieve for his own sake. I really want him to do so.

Well, everything went smooth until yesterday. It went psychotic, or should I say, wrong.

Before history lesson started, I was feeling ill, not physically but mentally. After not cutting myself for days, I'm losing it pretty badly. My primary output of poor feelings taken away from me in a sudden wasn't a helpful doing at all. As expected, I broke down on my desk with my favourite sweater blanketed my upper body, hiding away my fragility. It was pointless, sniffing my puffy nose & drowning my cheeks with tears for minutes, staring aimlessly at the scribblings on the desk. My mind was soon pervaded with half-baked thoughts while my common sense faded away. At that moment, it is powerfully proven to me that cutting was my drug. Like cigarettes & heroin, it's impossible to draw this inimical addiction to a halt in seconds. My head rolled around, attempting to free myself from this absurd crack-up. Tears just wouldn't stop travelling pass my dejected face no matter how hard I try to picture happy thoughts.

The collapse paused for a moment when my history teacher entered the class. After vigorously wiping my stained face with my sleeves, I laid on my desk as if I were dead, or waiting for it to happen. My sense shuffled thoughts around, playing its role as a distraction. Out of the blue, it landed on my suicidal thoughts real hard. Images of my pictured death flood my mind projector as if it's encouraging me to end this once and for all. Tempted to do so, I grabbed my blade from my bag and gently placed it onto my left wrist. For a minute I knew I wasn't going to execute my temporary vision because of the agreement I promised with the senior whom I trust. My urge for him to change is so enormous I held onto the blade tight. Another reason was because I wasn't daring enough to do it. I kept thinking about the luckless person who finds my body, the regrets I know I can never take.

Suddenly my previous thought shook me a little. I said I wasn't daring enough? How's that so? It's like saying "Alanis, you're admitting you're a COWARD. You're a WEAKLING who can't stand pain of just cuts of a tiny blade? What's wrong with you? Aren't you tired of losing to others? Then do something! Prove that you own no fear!"

That did the job.

Unintentionally after the voice in my head pronounced its last word, my right hand held the blade up & in a blink, it slashed across the wrist of my left arm. Not knowing what I did was actually divergent than the past cuts, I turned my head back and stared at my wounded arm.

And oh god, I actually did it. Very deep.

Just days after the words.

In shock, I stoned while observing the wound unseal widely. The vein can be seen as it's exposed to air around us. In an instance, blood began to flow tremendously fast out of my gaping cut. At that moment, accomplishment was my biggest triumph while hysteria grew second in me. It woke me up making me realise I'm actually in class, wrist spilling out gory red, seating at the most front row, teacher only few steps away. With no choice, I had to stop the bleeding or else I would had died in school, making a bloody scene out of nowhere. Argh so close.

Half an hour later, I managed to calm myself down as I already swallowed my drug deep enough. I kept thinking, "Woah, I actually done that, I actually own the guts, holy crap that was deranged." The cut was so severe it needed stitches (I didn't go get them though). But at the same time, I sort of broke the agreement between my senior & I. Hmm talking about terms I actually didn't, because I only agreed on not cutting, but what I did was to commit suicide. So yup, it's different I suppose.

So deep it hurts to the extend I can't play my buddy here ;(

"Addiction isn't about using drugs, it's about what the drug does to your life."