Growing Pains by Alada Porter (love story books to read txt) 📕

I wonder if that fifteenth candle, that last flickering flame that fought so valiantly against extinction, was the last remnant of who I used to be.

It definitely feels like a light has gone out; like everything about me has started to slowly whither away, like my heart is stuck in the freezer, like my eyes are sightless balls, like my ears are soundless holes.

I told my mom that I’ve been feeling a little off lately, but she brushed it off.

Everyone feels this way at my age; I’ll grow out of it eventually. She says these things so confidently that I find myself believing her. So I move my worries into that little space behind my eyes that I store everything else I don’t want to think about; and I hope.

“The hand that pours is the hand that catches,” a soft voice murmured, her words like feathers tickling my ears from the inside. I tried to open my eyes, so I could look for her, but she held them closed.

“Shhh,” she echoed, “they’ll hear you.”

‘Who?’ I asked silently, my thoughts reaching out tentatively into the blackness. It was warm in there, and I felt myself drawn in despite myself.

“The ones who keep things from you, they know all but share nothing. They want you, they hate you, they want you, they hate you.”

The darkness gnawed on me, hot and wet like the inside of a mouth. I forced my eyes open, trying to get out before I was swallowed.

But the light did nothing to assuage the voice; the words wrapped around me all the same, an inescapable embrace.

So I just stared at my white ceiling; counting the little cottage cheese-like clumps while the voice breathed paranoia into me. Everything was everything and nothing was nothing. The only thought or feeling I was able to legitimately hold onto was the fear, and I held onto it like a life raft, the last familiar thing I had.

I lay perfectly still for hours, and when it passed and the voice subsided into a quiet murmur in the back of my head, I got dressed and went to school.

I really hope I grow out of this.

School is torture.

I used to find it hard to concentrate because of Brittany, the girl directly to the right of me who apparently has something against bras, but even concentrating on not concentrating because of her is impossible. My mind is a ship lost at sea; I am Odysseus on his journey. I’m starting to wonder when I’ll find home again.

I’m not really sure where it is my mind goes, my thoughts seem to be a mix of incomprehensible images strewn together with the prefixes of words that don’t exist; sometimes it makes me nauseous, like I’m stuck in a vortex. I really don’t think this whole thing is very conducive to my learning right now.

“Troy?”

I blinked hard and looked up; the teacher was glaring at me. I had forgotten I was still in English class. How long was I out?

“Mmmhh?” I manage, feeling a little out of focus. Why do they always call on me?

“I’ll ask again Troy. Why didn’t Hamlet kill his uncle when he finally had the chance to?”

I clenched my jaw and blinked; that bitch always treats me like I’m stupid. Why did she have to call on me?

“Yeah, ummm, Hamlet was… at odds with his feelings of revenge… and-“ and there it goes. The thought just died, disappeared into the air like a wisp of smoke. Fuck my stupid brain.

“Troy?”

Suddenly talking and thinking and breathing all at the same time was too much of a burden; so I just shook my head as though I didn’t know the answer, and she turned away in disgust. Far away I could hear her asking someone else the same question, but I’m already back inside my head, as far away from my body as the earth is from the sun.

“You’re such a worthless piece of shit,” the voice whispered.

Please God, let me grow out of this.

I haven’t eaten anything for the last couple of days. I don’t know who’s trying to poison me, but almost nothing in this house is safe. I tried risking some canned food yesterday, but that’s a no go; the curdled purple bubbles whispered curses at me.

“It is as it will be, when the pin drops you lay dead and alone by the shore in the night.” The voice had murmured in assent of my paranoia. I tried to ignore her, but she always had some pretty good points.

As far as I know the water isn’t poisoned, so there’s that. But who knows what tomorrow will bring? Considering all the people trying to kill me off, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started poisoning my bed sheets as well.

It might be my parents; they’ve been giving me really weird looks lately, but at least they didn’t argue with me when I stopped going to school. I just don’t have the energy anymore, the voice keeps telling me how much I suck, and maybe I do. What’s the point of going to school if I’m too stupid to learn anything?
Why am I not growing out of this?

My bed’s as good a place as any to rot; I don’t really feel like moving anymore. I can see the bed sores developing, but I still can’t bring myself to move. At least the outside matches the inside now.

“Die before it kills you, end before the end, make it all right. Make it right.”
She doesn’t tell me to do things very often, but when she does tell me to do something, I find myself doing it. It’s the least I can do after all she’s done for me.

It’s not like I was going to grow out of this anyway.

Publication Date: 11-11-2012

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