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The Mirror Girl - Introduction/Chapter One

They always say that an attitude is something that you choose. It's not the actions that affect you, but your reactions. Personally, I've always thought that emotions are out of our control. Anger, hate, disgust, agony, heartbreak. Love, happiness, joy, adoration, courage. Positive or negative, I believe that the best we can do is try to pretend we're okay and hope our minds catch on eventually. Unfortunately, it's not a common occurrence. Personally, I am not okay. I am completely - maybe permanently - fucked up. I wake up several times an hour in the night, stifling my screams only to stumble back into the caress of my nightmares. There are days when I hardly want to touch food; loathe even the sight of it, as my stomach turns sour and all I seek is to turn away. Scars are strewn haphazardly across my body, serving as lingering witnesses, long after the trial has ended. Proclaiming that they were born on the nights when I was at my weakest. When I collapsed. Shattered. Changed. Changed, into the mess of broken glass and sands of time, the irreversible mistake. Like so many other people, I don a mask daily. A mask that is slowly splintering, chips crumbling away, as if the stronger part of me has finally decided to catch up with the rest of me. My mask of happiness, pretend laughter, and recklessness. With each passing day, it becomes less visible, slowly caving to reveal the true me. My flaws are beginning to claw their way to the surface, and it terrifies me. By far, the most painful aspect of it all is the fact that nobody knows. I suffer in silence. I stare at the ground as I wander the hallways. Hallways that could be empty for all the good it's doing me; hallways that are crammed full of people who don't reach out to help, even if it just means saying hello. Part of me wonders if they're really that oblivious, or if they're all just pretending so that they don't have to face the fact that so many others are exactly like me. Broken. Alone in a crowded room. After he died, people started to treat me differently. They're always awkward, or casting me eyes brimming with pity like an overflowing toilet. I absolutely loathe it. And the more that I hate it, it seems the more often it happens. Wherever I go, I'm chased by white-hot stares fixated on the back of my neck. It's begun to suffocate me. The only exceptions of these ever-present gazes are my friends, though they're few these days. With them, I can pretend to be normal. While I can't drop my protective barriers all the way, I can at least lower them. In all honesty, I think that's the only thing keeping me from trying to escape. Trying to get to him again. They temporarily silence - or at least muffle - the heart-wrenching sobs of agony that throb within my chest day-to-day, minute-to-minute. They're holding me together, if only barely. Trust me, this introduction is almost over. But I haven't quite gotten to actually introducing myself, and as we all know, things have to begin before they end... My name is Jacelyn. My friends call me Jack, despite my being a girl. My enemies' nickname for me isn't quite as flattering, but lately, they've pretty much left me alone because it would ruin their reputations if they made fun of the girl whose boyfriend slit his wrists and bled out. Personality-wise, I think you probably know the same amount about me as I do. And, of course, this is my story. Welcome to it. CHAPTER TWO: Click here!
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  psychicapparatus — Page created: 28 October 2010  |  Last modified: 3 November 2010
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‹αѕѕвυтт› says:   30 October 2010   163299  
I'm sure you've been asked this many times, but do you have Asperger's Syndrome?
psychicapparatus says:   2 November 2010   397882 This is fictional, not an autobiography.
Medication says:   3 November 2010   176033  
Very well written.
At first I thought you were one of those bullshit "OMG Lyk i am s0 amz!ng" writers.

But I've been gladly proven wrong.
psychicapparatus says :   3 November 2010   379127  
I think I'll accept that as a compliment. So thank you.

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