I do not trust a lot of people with my feelings because it always comes back and slaps me dead in the face. Inevitably, I regret ever giving my heart to someone who would have no idea what to do with it. I find myself desiring death to pay me visits just to see how it feels to leave this cruel world. I cannot help it. This is how I feel. People would ask me to be honest, and whenever I do, I'm selfish, uncaring, heartless, difficult to deal with, and the list goes on. So I have eight shells. Mentally, these are stronger than brick walls, concrete, and even metal. I do not allow anyone in because I already know what happens. If I give someone a key to my heart, they'll throw in a pit of fire and watch it melt while they laugh at my sea of tears. No one will ever get past these shells no matter how much I love them. I've been fooled many times, and I can only take so much. Not saying that it will happen again, but if so, I truly believe that the universe will finally break me. For good.
Imagine my body curled into a ball surrounded by eight circles. The smallest and most contained circle is the tightest. I do not have room to breathe or even move, but for me, it is fine. It'sperfect.I'm in my comfort zone, and I wouldn't dare step out of it for a single person. From there on, the size increases until you have the eighth shell which is also known as the biggest yet the strongest to break. It is almost like I have eight invisible force shields, and it's very spacious and isolated me from humanity along the lines of society. I may sound depressing, but as you can see, I do not care enough. I deliberately chase away any person who attempts to make any kind of contact with me. Exteriorly, I can smile and wave from a distance. I can encourage others to live their lives to the fullest and never let society shape them. It is easy to smile and pretend, so people wouldn't know how you really feel. But on the inside, I am rather a maniac. “Not like those who would kill someone or burn their own house down to ashes out of pure madness”. You want me to say that, but I cannot because my feelings CAN get the best of me. Well, I wouldn't say the best because I always feel at my worst. I do not know how many people can relate, but I can see that I'm starting to bore you with my constant deranged babbling. But there is more, so buckle up. Because once I'm done talking, I can guarantee that you'll miss my insane talks.
So, shall we began the countdown?
“Ms. Esme?” my therapist interrupts my villainess thoughts.
“That's my name.” In case you haven't noticed, I have an amazing sense of humor. And if you're smart enough, you would know that I am being sarcastic.
“It's been two weeks, and all you'd done is space out, thinking of God knows what.”
And that's suppose to mean what excatly?
Technically, she's right. My imagination carries me afar, but I cannot help but become offensive. What if I was thinking happy thoughts?
“Esme, are you laughing?”
No. I'm laughing.
“Of course not. It was a low chuckle.”
She removes her glasses, and exhale a deep breath. As you've already guess, my therapist, Mrs. Vanya, does not understand me at all. She thinks she knows me, but she does not. Because no one knows therealme. At least not on the inside.
“When was the last time you took your prescription? You're not acting like your usual self.”
“If you think this is unusual, then you would really be scared out of your mind if you saw me all by myself,” I peer into her eyes, “but too bad I am not. Otherwise, I would tear this damn room apart.”
“I belive you're sicker than you were before. I'll prescribe more medication due to hallucinations and your PTSD.”
“Whatever you think is best doctor.”
Go ahead. I sure as hell won't take them anyway.
“Is there anything else you are suffering from? Anything you would like to discuss? This is the most you have ever spoke.”
I am physically and mentally suffering from dragging my ass to this dreadful appointment every afternoon on Wednesdays. Lady, I couldn't be happier with my life.
“No, doctor. But if so, you will the first to know,” I give my best winning smile. That awful stretched smile that pains my face every time I use it.
“Alright Ms. Esme! You're all set. See you next Wednesday.” I shake hands with her.
That's if I don't kill myself first.
I always leave quickly because it gives me relief. In other words, it's a breath of fresh air. Until–
“Eveything is fine.”
Everything is fine,I repeated the words in my head.
Those three words were familiar to me because I use them often to dismiss those who bothers me, like my therapist. His tone sounded calm, but I can sense it. The straining agony to escape a place youloathethe most. To be around the kind of people you can barely tolerate not even second more before you break them in half. Perhaps I may have went too far with that last part. But I myself cannot help it, which is why the tone intrigues me. I desired to know who the voice belong to. And that's why I kept walking before I make any mistakes. I meant what I said in the beginning. No matter how much I wish to see the face belonging to that suffering voice that I feel can relate to, I will not letanyonein. This eighth shell shall not be broken. For no one.
Walking halfway home, I began thinking. Well, I'm always randomly thinking because my mind is a shit show.
…What? …W-who is calling me?
“Your name is Esme?”
“Yes?” I turn around facing the familiar voice. Then he says his name is:
“Amzi,” I repeated his name. “What do you want?” I spoke with an icy tone, "Can I help you?"
"I saw you leaving and I just really wanted to tell you something."
Oh? Well, it must be important if it was necessary for him to chase me down, and leaving his session in a hurry.
"W-what? What about my outfit?" I faltered slightly.
"It's," he admires the materials hugging my figure for a moment before continuing, "incredibly ugly."
"Excuse me?" I was in complete and utter revelation.
"Your outfit is incredibly-"
"I heard you, you perspicacious ass," I eye him, coldly.
"Whoa," he gives me a low chuckle, "I am far from perspicacious, sweetheart. I say that I am rather more of a demure paragon."
I'm a tad surprise that he even knows what that means. Not that I judge people or assume that they are illerate, but some people just don't come off that way. Stupid man, but not a stupid man.
"Demure? Paragon?," I scoff in disgust, "You are far from both modesty and perfection. You're more of a walking mendation."
"I'm getting tired of using big words."
"Fine by me. You couldn't keep up with me anyway," I sassed back.
"Esme, I literally just ran out of a building for you. I say I'm keeping up pretty friggin' well.
"Well, you didnt have to, but you did, and that is on you. And don't you dare say my name as if you are familiar with me. Now, I think you're being hyperbolic right now. I'll take my leave before things get physical, and I do not mean the good kind. And if you ever want to insult someone for your own satisfaction, either keep it to yourself or stay there patiently while I go to a nearby store, purchase a shovel, use it to knock you out cold, take you to friggin' graveyard, and bury you while you can still breathe air from this earth."
I realized that I went too far with my villainess thoughts and outburst. I clear my throat to ease the tense awkwardness as he stares at me in complete shock. I really need to keep my thoughts together before I end up kill anyone again.
"…I see why you go to therapy now. The specificity and well-thought procedure of that plan is amazing."
"Well, Amzi," I grit his name through my teeth, "it is all about first impressions."
"Is it really? Well, you impressed me," he steps forward with our faces just inches away and says,"and I wanna take you out.
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