I empty my mind and close my eyes, concentrate and then I can be happy- I’m home. My mind fills with Them. They comfort me and I smile, feeling the power I always do when I fill up with Them.
‘Accoutrements, ebullient, circumlocution, magnanimous, penultimate, unparagoned, idiosyncratic, saxicolous and my favourite- sesquipedalian- meaning a person who uses big words.’ I smile and turn the words over again in my mind, savouring the feel of them running through my mind.
Words have been in my head for as long as I can remember and they have been my comfort for just as long. When I run out of new words I pick up a dictionary and slot some more into my brain. They swim in my head all the time and They are what keep me sane.
“Come on stupid, don’t you ever speak? All you ever do is close your eyes and smile! What’s with you anyways you big freak?” I’m jolted back to the present and it feels like a slap across the face. I squint up at the bullies in front of me and do the only thing I know how. I start saying the words out loud, trying to block them out and return to my happy place where the only thing I know are words. I feel a hand collide with my shoulder and a sharp jolt of pain runs down my arm. My eyes snap open.
“Leave me alone!” I yell as I hit the bullies and start screaming profanities. The problem is it’s all in my head- in reality all I do it slump down in my chair and hope that the teacher arrives soon so that the bullies will leave me alone. For once my wish comes true and for a while I can leave behind this world again. With a small smile I leap through the atmosphere of this world into another, where I am powerful and can do what I want. I can speak and read and research new words all day, every day.
All too soon the bell rings ending the day and I come crashing back to this world where I am nothing special. Here I’m just a small girl who knows a few big words, just a girl who is easy to pick on and now has to go to a therapy session. With a sigh I gather my things and shuffle out of the room, books in hand. I make it down the hall way without too much trouble and I manage to squeeze into the school councillors room before my tormentors catch up with me.
“Oh, hello Amanda, how are you feeling today?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, my head bowed. I slide into a chair and let my hair fall over my shoulder, shielding my face from the probing eyes of the councillor.
“Amanda, you need to look at me.” I raise my eyes and look at her, resentment shining in my eyes. I don’t want to be here! I scream, but then I just drop my eyes again and collapse back into the chair in defeat. I’m too tired to keep the resentment burning in me.
“You’re here to talk to me Amanda; you know you can tell me anything.”
“Yeah I know.”
“So then why don’t you ever talk to me?”
I shrug my shoulders, “Not much to say, I guess.”
“Come on Amanda, I’m here to help.”
Then leave me alone! I want to yell, but I just look up at her and shrug again, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden rush of melancholy that engulfs me. She sighs and after a while gives up this tactic and tries a different topic.
“How did your classes go today?”
“Fine.”
“Did you pay more attention?”
I look away again. “Not really.” I reply sullenly.
She heaves another sigh.
“Amanda you’re here to learn, that’s why you’re here-to learn. We’re trying to help you, but you need to give back a little too.”
You don’t understand anything! I cry, wanting so desperately to just be able to tell her everything, but it’s my problem and she wouldn’t get it anyways. No one gets me-they don’t know about the bullies. They don’t know that I don’t’ listen to the teachers because I already know everything they’re trying to teach me. They don’t know how smart I am, they don’t know about the world of words. They don’t understand that I don’t do my work because it’s so boring it’s beneath me. I shout all these things and they bounce around my head. I take a moment and try to pull myself together, but instead I find myself sinking down into the dark of waters of depression. I’ve felt like the dark water have been lapping at my heels all day, just waiting for my weak moment so they can swirl over me and suck me down under the water where I can’t get back out.
When the required hour of therapy is over I escape to the hallways and from there to the back roads that will lead me home. I take the back roads so that the bullies won’t find me, so that I won’t have to go home all covered in bruises. I don’t need the bruises the bullies give me; I get enough from my father. I shudder at the thought of last night, remembering the rage that dad was in, remembering the beating I’d gotten.
As I walk I build up more and more anger, I also fall farther and farther into my depressed state. I’m angry because of the pretenses. I’m not allowed to tell anyone how smart I am because I’m not allowed to cause a scene. If I react to the tantalizing of the bullies I will cause a scene and get in more trouble at home because of it. I’m angry because my mom pretends to care, sending me to a councillor, crying her eyes out in front of the councillor, telling her how difficult it is to have me for a child, telling the lady how I never talk and never listen. It makes me mad that mom can do that, but then when I get home she just stands by and lets dad hit me. That’s why I never say anything-I get less cuts and bruises if I just keep quiet.
I feel depressed because school is too boring, because I’m tired of all the bruises and cuts and the never ending hurt. I feel dejected because I’m in such a frenzy that I can’t reach my world of words. I feel frustrated because I’m so helpless and because there is nothing I can do to help the situation.
It’s literally hammered into me every night that it’s my fault for everything-for dad’s rages, for the bullies, for my bad grades and now I believe it. The people in my class have friends, they don’t get thrashed by their fathers every night, they don’t have people persecuting they’re every moment.
‘It must be something about me; it must be my fault, because if it wasn’t why would it just be happening to me, and not everyone?’ I think. This line of thought doesn’t help my temperament and I feel a self-loathing so strong I can barely keep walking.
‘The world would be better off without me.’ I think despondently and then I start thinking again of the conclusion I reached last night.
‘I have to die; when I die everyone will be happier.’ I repeat this over and over, until I’m convinced that there is no other option. ‘My life is messed up and it’s my fault, now I’m messing up everyone’s life around me too.’ I feel the first tear slide down my cheek and know that if dad saw me I’d get in trouble for showing weakness.
‘I have to do it now,’ I resolve. ‘And maybe when I die I’ll go to my world of words.’ I surmise. Then I smile, ‘Yes I have to believe that, when I die I’ll go to my world of words, and then I’ll be happy and I won’t hurt anyone anymore.’
With that thought in mind I walk the three blocks to the highway on the edge of town. I wait until a car is close enough that there won’t be time for the person driving to slam on the brakes or swerve. At the last possible moment I thrust my books to the side and dash in front of the car.
‘I hope the person inside doesn’t get hurt, but at least if they do I know they’ll be the last person I hurt.’ I think as I run. Then the car hits me and the pain is too much.
I gasp one last breathe and my last thought is “World of words I’ll be there soon. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt anyone or be such a bother. I’m sorry.” And then everything goes black and Amanda leaves this world with one last leap towards her world of words.