Emo Shuns

Pronouns are Changed to Protect the Innocent

Some days he wonders if just he stands in the shower long enough, if he will eventually wash off the feeling of dread. He doubts there is enough water for that to happen. Eating food doesn't alleviate the feeling either. His mouth simply tastes acidic. Books are like bandaids, all they do is cover up what is underneath. Maybe if they cover it long enough it will eventually heal on its own. Then the story ends and he's left to deal what is still there. Wine makes the feeling of anxiousness seem farther away, like an ambulance he can hear but can't see, so he assumes it is not coming his direction. Speeding along alone in his car he feels free, until he passes a speed limit sign. He's breaking the law and there may be an officer nearby that he is unaware of, so he slows down. There isn't enough sound to drown out the pain in his chest, or enough silence to quench the questions in his mind. The positive mantra doesn't provide meaning to the misery. Misery is a strong word for one such as he. He, who is so well off compared to most of the world. The world in which millions of people are daily dying from hunger, thirst, and AIDS. Who is he to say anything? Who is he not to?
The therapist part of him asks if he actually wants to feel better. The bitter child self says he doesn't give a flying flip. The song is the same. Victim or victor? He doesn't care. He's tired of caring. He sounds like a pathetic emo punk with enough justified judgement to last a lifetime. The only thing that is worse than self-judgement is seeing it reflected back, and feeling it confirmed in the eyes of someone he trusts.