Voices in My Head: A Cry for Help
Voices in My Interior
A Cry for Help
Dear friend, imaginary,
Today, they did it again—the classmates I’m stuck with. They don’t understand; they just say I’m soft and rare. I love music, manga, and computers. I don’t like playing ball, and they always try to make me be alone on the playground, forcing me to be goalie. They don’t care if I let in a goal; they just embrace me as a winner. Not wanting to play is another reason for them to beat me! I’ve lost the desire to integrate; I only want to see them as little as possible.
I’m late for class; my professors are fed up. They say I’ve changed. My parents are always involved when teachers ask questions. Nothing can pass without studying, but I no longer raise my hand; I’m afraid. I fear the champion from the back and next door. I don’t want to go to anyone; I’m not suicidal. The last time, I waited ten minutes to exit. The Pope calls me problematic; impotence and pain annul me. Will I make a cocktail or a tragedy?
I can handle this pressure. NO NEED TO HASTE; WHAT’S LEFT TO ENDURE. I want to end it all, as soon as possible! I hear voices within me screaming, “DO IT, GO!”
I’m sorry your parents don’t understand your suffering. From your desk, time passes slower. I understand, and perhaps I can help. I swear to end it all if you let me advise you. Feel like justice will take you through your hands. Everything begins in the corridors; you’ll pass with your head bowed and hands in your pockets. You know they marginalize you; the other children see you mourn. They lock you in the cellar or the attic when the court…
All for not being like everyone else—what makes you unique also makes you lonely. If teachers only make matters worse, a tip is another punch in the back. Everything they do is just another reason to attack the target—you. They laugh, but it’s not funny. You’re not inferior, but fear blinds you. Fear of bullying is to feel inferior, and that’s why you’re stuck. Do you want to slit your veins? Only delayed flight problems. Look, you’re beginning to grieve. Every day, you have new bruises. These little thugs…you, who have done a couple of things…
I can handle this pressure. NO NEED TO HASTE; WHAT’S LEFT TO ENDURE. I want to end it all, as soon as possible! I hear voices within me screaming, “DO IT, GO!”
Follow your ideals and don’t be a coward! Don’t give up; your effort hasn’t been in vain! This time, I was lucky, not with you. There are times you see that you can force the knack. Don’t hide; fight! You have to be strong. Listen to the voice speaking to you after this hood. Every group has an assigned leader. Being enforced is complicated and has touched you. The solution is to tackle the situation. They say no fence is easy, so less pressure. What would others do if they were in your place? Don’t stand for what you have to endure; they’ve disrupted your innocence. Do you know what can happen when you run out of patience? You must do something now; they’re tired. Indeed, I’ve endured too much. Your vindictive apuntatate, write each name, returning it. Come show me you’re a man. Bitterness has poisoned you. This wasn’t what you wanted, was it? Who would have thought it?
I can handle this pressure. NO NEED TO HASTE; WHAT’S LEFT TO ENDURE. I want to end it all, as soon as possible! I hear voices within me screaming, “DO IT, GO!”
Today, I told myself a thousand times, “Don’t do it; there are good guys.” But they pushed me into the abyss, to that point of no return where everything is indifferent. I feel anger towards my environment. That day, I came to school early and, in line to enter, those bastards were merciless. I remember their mouths uttering a word: “Nenas.” The impact on my body was as usual; no one intervened. Some laughed and looked aside. I swallowed my resignation. I knew that day it would be over. “Hit me, macho; I won’t mourn!” I have no tears left, just sickening laughter. I’m going to die, and the last thing I’ll hear is the teacher writing on the blackboard with chalk. In my backpack, a bottle of gasoline and much pain in my arteries and adrenaline. Bruised, I went to the lavatory and waited until everyone was in class and the hall was clear. While the concierge was drinking coffee, I stole the keys to the classrooms from his office. I went up to mine—it was on the fourth floor—and stealthily closed the door from the outside. Suddenly, I opened the other fuel valve. SURPRISE! I gave them no time to react. I took a match, locked them up, and started to walk. I remember the screams, an irresistible symphony. Firefighters saved some lives, but many don’t bother me anymore. The hysterical professor fleeing the flames jumped out the window and no longer has to walk again. To this day, I haven’t gone back to school, not home. But this place has advantages. Here, although they don’t mistreat me, it’s all very cool, and they give me pills that make me tranquil. Sometimes, I imagine how to kill a nurse who controls me. I was in time; I will have released what I regret…I swear! Whom do I want to deceive?