I have never been one for trouble, but when I want it I don’t stick around long. I’m always different from everyone, I can’t be the same. These people are mirror images of each other, just the perfect amount of the same, so little is different. Everyone is so bland or in better words boring. They are always handed once in a lifetime opportunity. Well here in Bulgaria , there is no such thing as an opportunity. If you do get one though and take it, you are judged. Judged for your singularity, judged for being different. I’m so very sick of everything being my fault. No matter what I do or don’t do, it just seems so impossible to get it right. You just have to let it go, you can’t earn your way up to freedom. Some people are more fortunate than others, I know that. But why would God want this for me? You want something? Food? Water? Shelter? No, earn it.
Everyday I am waiting for a break in the system , a miracle. But I soon figured out that my dream was never going to happen. Once you come, you never go. Just like what happened to me. No one is brave enough to try and leave our terrifying past and at the time, what felt like our futures. To be honest, no one enjoyed this place. Pain is a terrible sacrifice, pain is a new beginning, it is an opening to a better feeling. Fear is a blessing. If the worst you get in a lifetime is Fear you might end up good, but in my case, fear was the best feeling in the world. I can’t control what happens to me, I can only hope, dream, and pray it will be better somewhere else. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that there is an entire world out there. Happy, Spoiled people. People who couldn’t even imagine my suffering. They don’t know, I can’t blame them for my pain. But sometimes it’s all I can do. Even if they did know, what would they do? A free mind isn’t always a safe one.
I need someone to believe in me when I can’t believe in myself. Everyday my mind travels to a better place. Sometimes it’s hard to guess that the place you hate the most is the place you escape to, to a better time. But this is where my story starts: isolation, blood and tears. Though I should warn you, it ends the same. Even worse actually. “There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” I memorized this quote a long time ago. I take it to heart too, it means more than it shows, you can love someone with all of your heart and they can still leave. Then you will say “ I can never love again,” Maybe it’s true.
Everyday I wish I could see the sky again or a beautiful sunset. I wish I could watch as a gentle snowflake falls onto my nose; if only this could happen, I would savor it. This place, these hallways, this room, all of it, I wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. Age doesn’t matter here. We all were still isolated and if it came to it, Killed. I slept in a room with 30 or so girls, all dreading it as much as I. And like the others we were handcuffed to our beds. “This Place” was worried we would run and escape. But everyone knew that wasn’t their main concern. They didn’t want the cops or god forbid the FBI to swoop in and save the day again. This place still haunts my nightmares. Still makes me cry.
You may be asking yourself, what is this place? At the time I was as clueless as you, but now that I am not so innocent, I know it was no ordinary school. I know of no official name, but everyone called it The Blood Room . Not going to lie they occasionally got around to math and history, but not always, we were soldiers, Soldiers ready for our Mission.