derealization
walking through the halls they see no one, no face recognizable or worth remembering as their eyes shift between feature to feature of students. they give them the same treatment. not bothering to talk to them, acknowledge, or even waste the miniscule muscle movement to look at. focusing on walking is difficult, constantly alert and weaving between other bodies too engrossed in conversation with others. or they simply dont have enough decency to look up and establish the situation
the feeling of nothing being real is unlike any other. they immediately understand what they are feeling, but not the how or why. various chemical reactions can explain how their brain works the way it does, but no one can answer the why. looking at other humans, recognizing they are the same species, understanding that even when we act or look differently we are all meat, blood and organs. yet they cant seem to find a single person who understands them, who sees beyond the front of lies, the silence they give when pressured or questioned what’s wrong
to beg is pathetic in their eyes, yet they’ve begged themselves. to beg to be understood was something they never believed they could bring themselves to do. they werent raised to be so dependent on other beings, to be so swayed by others outlook on them. thinking you were independent when you are not is a horrible realization that they would not wish on another person
when people talk for long periods of time about how they feel, the only thing they can muster to feel is ostracization. how come other people can talk so freely about this? why are they the only ones who cant? speaking auditable words is the worst torture they hve ever experienced, trying to mutter out anything that seems mediocrely understandable is a struggle. trying to think of answers and not sound uninterested or unintelligible or to offend anyone is mentally exhausting. why is it socially unacceptable to stay silent, to simply observe instead of spewing out syllables no one will reply to?
even though they can stand next to another human, look them in they eyes, breathe the same oxygen they do, they will never understand what its like to be like them. they delude themselves in believing that they are the normal ones, that other people are the problem in how they view homo sapiens. they trick their own mind into believing that the others arent real, that the world isnt real, that life itself has no meaning so it isnt worth bothering to try and appease the mounds of flesh that walk on two legs.
deciphering ones own mind is their biggest struggle. even though they want the ever tantalizing knowledge of why and how, they simply cannot figure the solution to the equation. even when reaching out to professionals they cannot seem to figure out why they work this way, why they are so different from other humans. they say this, question how they still can’t figure it out, yet they never say anything. the bipolar ways of their mind are hard to keep up with, constantly contradicting its own logic and confusing. maybe thats why they cannot seem to keep up with humans, they cannot figure out why they work this way. they couldnt fix themselves even if they wanted to
sitting in a classroom full of people is the most lonely experience in the world to them. to watch other people talk with smiles on their face, skin taught and wrinkled as they speak in loud voices, under eyes crinkled and noses scrunched when their facial expressions change as they so easily interact with other people. they long to be like that, to be normal, to have people to talk with even if talking is a strain, to be not avoided as if they have done something wrong. how can you do something wrong when you dont talk? are they ugly? is it their clothing? do they smell? why are they avoided? they wish they could ask this to the few who interact with them, but even if they believe they are independent they are not. they would put a gun to the roof of their mouth before they ever decided to upset or disturb the people who talk to them, view them as another human with the same flesh and beating heart.
they view themselves as pathetic. to have to turn to writing to finally express their feelings, too scared and worried about being shunned over the nothingness they think they feel. even if they had the courage, they doubt people would listen. from past experiences, they have come to realize humans love themselves. they love to chatter about how their own day went, not bothering to look at another persons. is that hypocritical to say? their flesh is the same as theirs, their brain is wrinkled in the same way, their veins are pumping with blood, so do they too only think of themselves? is it selfish to say that they wish they could talk about themselves so easily as others do?
wanting to be touched, yet they turn and cringe at any given moment when given it. wanting to love yet not knowing how to. loving themselves one moment, then the next they rip apart themselves mentally as they nitpick their entire being in front of a mirror. wanting to share their hardships, their worries, anything, but too scared to bother and inconvenience another being. wishing they could be better and could understand how people see them, yet not changing when people say. their mind loves to be contradictory, to be difficult.
