Thoughts - Ella G (most read books of all time .txt) 📗

This book is kind of related to me and schizophrenia. Please take precaution in reading this book, and please don't read this book if you feel uncomfortable reading about books like this. 

Thanks,

Ella/Enok.

It was a Friday. It was warm. Spring was near, and it felt like it was summer. My alarm clock reads 8:38 A.M, and I only had two minutes until the bus left. My tired parents seemed to still be asleep, and I sighed. I'm on my own, as always. As I got ready and got out the door, I realized I didn't eat breakfast. Oh well. One less pound to worry about. even when my doctor says I need to eat more, I didn't want to. I liked my BMI of 15.60. I liked my 99.3 lbs. I liked the feeling of feeling empty, and it made me feel like I was actually the leader of something. If I could actually not sleep, that would've been great. But, Homo sapiens and other creatures actually need sleep. So sleep is off the list. When I reached the bus stop, the bus was already there. I had a good chance of getting on the bus. When I ran to the doors, all the seats were taken in the back. I sat in the front. The sun was orange and shining right into my hair. The ginger blond hair of mine was accented by the orange and made me look like a phoenix. Does it look good? Yes. That's my friend. The friend inside my head. The friend that calms me down. The one that is like a mother to me. It quiets my waves of thoughts. I only told three people, and the counselor. The guidance counselor doesn't think I'm crazy. She understands. She's just worried it'll corrupt my life. It won't. At least, I hope not. I think too much and it quiets me. Sometimes it hushes me quietly and I can't breathe, but otherwise it's fine. As the second stop entered, my best friend came on. I've known him since fourth grade, so I think there's a lot of trust in our friendship. But I think everyday that we see each other, the level goes down bit by bit. That I'll be alone. I'd only have it to keep me company. I didn't want that. Sure, it's fine, but sometimes it really annoys me. Quieting me down more than ever now. Hush hush, quiet, silent. It's okay. shh, it's okay. Its mantra speaks to me every rare time I cry, or when I unlock the padlock and chains from the bottled emotions of mine, or if I just want to speak. Hush, hush. It says that all the time and I figure it's to keep me safe from doing anything. As my best friend came on, he started talking about all the people he liked and likes, then started about the friend he thought he had. I just nod, and sometimes respond, the it giving me pointers on how to keep the conversation from going off the road. What if it did? "Anyways, look at this!" He showed me a picture of Jensen Ackles staring at Misha Collins's face. I smiled, making sure to squint my eyes just a bit. I learned that online. you could detect a fake smile on someone's face if their eyes don't look tinier than the original. Not that he'd care. He's seen me cry once. Once. When I was feeling guilty for all the things I've done to my own dad. Not thinking about the years that he has to live. That was Tuesday. Today's Friday. Spring break is tomorrow. I don't tell anyone anything, but I wish I could. Entrust them like my own bottle in my mind. I don't tell it everything, either. I just tell my best friends and friends bits, but not the full story. I wish I could tell somebody. The counselor told me to make a diary, but what would that do? Nothing. When we arrived at the school, I thanked the bus driver and hopped off. My best friend was beside me, rambling on about the bitches and assholes he had met and saw. I just nod, and act like the way I usually do; did. The way I usually did when I was 7. Crazy, full of energy, stubborn. Imaginative. Fun. Now I'm just gray, morbid. 8 was the downfall of everything. Everything. The voices, the figures, the beings, the trust, the lies, the bottle. The end of everything. But I still tried. I'd laugh, trying to make it sound real but then it would sound off and odd. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered. If it did, I wouldn't know of it. If I did, I wouldn't. Like I said, I am gray. Gray. And I don't believe in that stuff. "Oh, just find a person that will collaborate with your color!" Nothing collaborates with gray. Black and white. Pink and red. Green and blue. Yellow and orange. Nothing goes with gray. 

Did you think that I had just one friend? You're wrong. I have thousands. Most of the school is my friend. But they're distanced. Like, friends with benefits. Not sex, no intimate things. An example is a girl in my P.E class. When I don't have a partner, I team with her. That's what I mean. I don't tell my distanced friends much. Not much. Not really. I don't have an idea what. What do I even tell them? Oh, yeah. Nothing. Bits. Bits. Just bits. I wonder if I'm just filling up a void in this world. No, I'm not. I'm just a space. Or am I a void? I'm just occupying a space. It tells me to be silent. I listen. My friend is talking to his friend. Silent. I wonder if that's a good idea. I decide it is. Silent. I drink the juice box I bought and stare at my thin fingers. Could they get thinner? Could my veins pop out more? Could my hands get colder? It tells me to be quiet. I hush my mind. I think of wind blowing through trees. The dead branches pretending to be alive. It tells me to let go. I try. I keep staring at everything to avoid thinking about it too much. Look, my hands. Look at the teachers. Look at the floors. Look at the ceiling. Slowly, so everyone doesn't think I'm crazy. I've had enough of that word. The word annoys me too much. I am not crazy. I'm not crazy. I am not crazy. Stop. shh, hush. It's okay. Silent. Be quiet. It's okay. Shh...shh. Shh. I stop. I don't want it to yell at me. When it does, it makes my tears sprint right back to the place they came from. The counselor tells me it's a bad thing to bottle my emotions. But how? It makes me feel safe and empty. That's not what I feel right now. I'm full of juice now. Juice, 120 calories. I'll probably burn them off easier if I skip lunch. That's a good idea. But, the lunch lady will call my mom again and she'll start packing lunch and the teachers will all be witnesses. I decide to buy lunch but give it to others. I've had enough of it. I'll skip it, feel empty again. Think less. I found out if I ate more, then it would keep telling me to be quiet and I've heard that more times than I've seen an airplane in the sky. I've heard it too much. The bell rang. I got up, waiting for my friend. "Let's go." He nodded, still talking to his friend. I say that I have class upstairs. I don't. He knows. He tells me to wait. I laugh and run. He just smiles, shaking his head, forgetting my presence and continues talking to his friend. That's better. When I get to my class, I sit down and say my usual hellos. My table responds and I stare at the spot where my friend was supposed to be. He went to a mental institution for thinking about school shootings. He'll come back after spring break. I've learned that he's not good. I choose to talk about school and music now. Never about his girlfriend or his problems and thoughts. I've had enough of it. He made me cry. I saw online that I should hang out with people who make me laugh and smile often. So I should be with everyone except everyone. I don't know. It tells me to hush myself again. I silence myself. I take out my sketchbook and finish the abstract art I started yesterday. It would've been fun to finish it tomorrow. No more talking. No eating. No sleeping. Sounds like a day I would kill for. Not kill, but think for. I think way too much. Too much is bad. Sometimes. I decide it isn't. I decide it is. I decide not to decide. It tells me to quiet. I do. Art is basically a class where you draw scribbles and get an A+. My fingers feel cold and stiff. All of a sudden, I feel angry. Angry because of my fingers. Why the FUCK WON'T THEY WARM UP? SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IT'S FINE BE QUIET HUSH. IT'S FINE. YOU'RE OKAY. It's okay. you're okay. Shh. Shh, it's okay. I hush myself. I speak too much. I bite my tongue and pinch my arm, and kept tapping my feet on the ground. Anything to keep myself from responding to anything. My mom lost my phone and my iPad's gone. So no music, except for the computer. And the computer's downstairs. And downstairs is where my parents and siblings will mostly be. And they'll make me talk and socialize. I want to go outside, but I'll probably see half the kids at school outside and they'll want to talk. I decide not to.