April 28, 2007


This is a section to my Creative Writing assignment. In the whole assignment, we have to write a total of eleven 'memoirs', each to a special theme. For instance, there are the themes "My First..", "Where I Grew Up", "Holidays". This one happens to fall into two categories, Love and Pain, but yet I have decided to place it in the Love theme. This piece has been one of the hardest things that I have ever written, and probably one of the only peices that I literally let nearly all of my emotion into. It was painful, but it had to be done. To write this I had to put myself back into this position, this atmosphere, this feeling, and I literally could not move, talk or do anything else for hours afterward. I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. Feel free to ask me any questions if you have any! (P.S- This was the rough draft that I had typed, so there are a few mistakes, but nothing too extravagant.)



Looking over at my friend, I see that she is terrified. I immediately feel like screaming again. My eyes are bloodshot from the last three hours of crying, my body is numb and I don’t think that I can do anything else but cry and shout more.

I drop to my knees, gravity weighing me down to the concrete. It is raining; the most rain that we’ve had in a month. I am at the playground, surrounded by two of my friends, wishing nothing more than to drown in the silver sky and lay lifeless on the ground. I hold my head in my hands, letting my body decide whether it wants to get sick or pass out. I can’t think, I can’t feel, and I can hardly understand where I am and why I am here. I am seeing myself from an outside viewer, an omniscient spirit flowing above the parking lot and my soaked, helpless, and screaming body on the pavement. I think I may be in Hell.

“Tori,” I hear one of my friends say in a shaky, almost comforting way. It sounds like an echo in a dark alley. I feel her hand on my sopping sweatshirt, but I yank away from her. I don’t want to feel her.

“Tori, it’s okay,” Another friend says from the other side of me. He hasn’t said anything helpful in the last three hours and this proves that he has nothing else to say other than that it’s okay. I know it’s bloody okay, okay? It’s okay, don’t mind that I can’t feel my insides and my brain feels like a nitrogen-frozen banana that was just slammed into a million pieces with a sledgehammer! It’s okay- just let my heart dissolve. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay! No! It’s not o-freaking-kay!

I am shaking, rocking back in forth on the wet, muddy ground. The rain is pouring harder and my attempts of trying to count the seconds for an escape failed miserably. My hair fell with the weight of moisture in front of my face. I want to run, I want to get away from everything, but I can’t do anything but just sit here.

All of the scenes from this morning are flashing in front of my eyes as I stare hopelessly at the cracks in the black pavement. I can see myself putting on eyeliner in the mirror, listening to those songs, walking to school, and waiting for him in the band room. I can see the school and my first class with him, talking to him afterwards and doing his math homework. I can hear the songs we hummed in the hallway, the lockers closing and my math teacher yelling at me to stop talking to him and sit down. I can feel his warmth on my skin, his arms trying to tickle me whenever he got the chance, his fingers playing with my hair. My eyes ache with every drop of salty liquid drained from them, my throat is swollen from screaming and my stomach feels like it’s in my knees.

I lift my head from the palms of my hands and I see my best friends, my loyal companions, staring at me, trying to ask me questions. All I want to do is scrub my body from the filth that I was feeling from the last hug he gave me. I scream again, loud and cracked, and it echoes throughout the parking lot. I was in pain- crucial pain that was numbing my entire body. The two friends in front of me lower down to my level.

“Are you done screaming?” he asks me, but I just look at him. No, my conscious said calmly, I am not done screaming.

“Tori, can you hear me?” The other asks, but I look to the ground again. Of course, I can hear them perfectly, but I cannot react. It is nearly impossible to move my neck to look up let alone speak.

I attempt to close my eyes and pretend that I am somewhere else. I told myself that nothing happened; I am at home in the warm shower with warm coffee brewing. But it was no use. My body was trembling, half from the cold and half from the nauseous feeling in the pit of my chest. I think I am going to be sick, but before I can think twice about it, the feeling is replaced by a scream again. I wish I could feel something other than the urge to drown in the shouting and pouring rain.

It is because of him that I cannot feel my toes. It is because of him that I had ran until I couldn’t any more and wound up in front of the playground. It is because of him that I can only scream to express my feelings. I am a train wreck, and I look like a crack addict. It is because of him that I feel like the world is falling into oblivion.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to just leave me. He wasn’t allowed to. It wasn’t fair; it was sickening. I was in love, I knew it; I had woken up in the middle of nights, crying because I knew I had been too attached. I should have listened to them when they told me that he wasn’t worth it. I knew he wasn’t to them but he was to me. He was everything. And, he was exactly what they said: an inconsiderate git.

It was me who had started it. I had started the conversations and I had been the one to ask him to hang out. It was only fun but it began to be so much more. At thirteen years old, I was in love with him. It wasn’t the high school-sweet heart, on-again-off-again love. It was the madly, deeply, wholeheartedly, you-saved-me, I-Love-You love. And it was useless. And he threw it away, knowing everything that I felt and more about me than the two people in front of me knew.

I have learned two things since then. One of which is extremely personal, and the other is a piece of advice for anyone willing to listen.
One, only allow so much of your heart to be taken up by one person. Have enough room to give to everyone who deserves it, but most importantly, leave some for yourself to know that you are still alive after pain has taken over your body.
And lastly, even if you’ve loved and failed, love again and live like you’ve never been hurt.









By: Tori, May 2008.

















Posted on May 8th, 2008 at 05:32pm

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