First person fiction unsettles me but here goes…
My God’s enough for me; this world has nothing I need
The tears rolled down my cheeks and seemed to imitate my descent to the kitchen floor. It felt uncomfortable; unfamiliar. The fridge wall on which I was leaning was ice cold but I didn’t care. It distracted me. The floor was hard, like an egg. It made my back side numb within a few moments of gracing it. I wished I had broken down on the toilet floor instead. The toilet floor was inviting. On the toilet floor I felt like a couple of other depressed introverts all over the world would be with me in the struggle; that our tears would follow a sort of similar pathway from the moment they are let free through the floor to the drain or the mop to… Even though I was alone in the house, the kitchen floor felt too privacy deprived.
The events of the past few days continue to play in my head. I do not know why it hurts so badly- Asha’s betrayal. Perhaps it is because everything had pointed towards her not being trustworthy but I ignored it. I ignored the fact that I cannot look her in the eye; there is just something about them. I ignored the fact that when I see her I am immobilized by some unexplainable fear and have to say something out loud; to hide. I ignored the fact that I laugh along with most people when they are laughing at me, but her jokes about me always seemed to cut too deep. You know, the jokes that force you to suck in as much air as your lung can hold and let it out- tunefully or otherwise- as long as it sounds like a laugh. Perhaps it is because I heard her talk about other people, and I was not sure she would not talk about me if anyone used just the right amount of energy to tip the scale over.
Talk. There is a point in your life when gossip about you should only put you down for that night and half of the next day. There are things I have heard about me that I have gotten over and had jokes trending about within the hour of my hearing them. I have not always been so croc skinned. I used to be fragile until I realized. Talk does not really matter- especially not when I am at peace with myself. Asha should not unsettle me for as long as my loved ones and my dreams remain untouched.
Still, it annoys me. It annoys me because there are two ways you lose a game. First case scenario: you play earnestly and it still does not work out. Or: you lose concentration and make one careless move that gives your opponent an edge over you throughout the game. Personally, I dread the second case. That is what it felt like with Asha. I let her in subconsciously even though all reason was against it. Look at me now. I have a problem with someone knowing what my screensaver is yet many sincere, heartfelt thanks to Asha the whole world knows what I own, how I acquired it, which side of my head I like better, to which side my mother’s head is oriented when she sleeps, how to get to where everyone in the least bit associated to me stays… Looking on the bright side, at least I know that in a few lucky cases, they do not know whether to pull or push the door when they get there.
I know you know that these are not the exact secrets Asha has let out of the bag. If they were I would be hospitalized for making a fuss by now. Asha went for the jugular, and she not only fed the nosy neighbors sugar, she served it with spoonfuls of honey. Asha has hurt me… because she consciously set out to hurt me.
I do not grieve because I have lost a friend. There is no love lost between the two of us really. I grieve because I have been made a fool of, AGAIN.