Late night thinking is one of my specialities . There have been so many times that I spent nights in my bed with eyes wide open yet pretending to be deep in sleep right when someone knocked . Pretending , was another of the fewer things I was good at , not that it did me any good . I could pretend to do about anything , pretending to be in love ? Check Pretending to be happy ? Check . Pretending to care , to laugh , to cry , to feel hurt , to believe , to be loyal ? Check . I guess when you grow into a world full of deceptions and lies , they aren't a talent but a way to survive without visible bruises .
Growing up I wasn't naive , but I portrayed the image of an innocent good and bit goofy girl perfectly . Not one single crack , wait no , I had one crack , tiny one but I managed to get past the little fault after a certain time , that too very smoothly if I may note . Guess I just got lucky ! Oh , and luck , God blessed me with that in some ways while cruelly taking it away in others . But now that I think about , I deserved whatever bad happened maybe , or maybe I didn't I deserved losing the trust of my best friend at the age of fifteen , but I didn't deserve the small inappropriate touches below and around my skirt from my English teacher at the age of seven , I deserved being slapped by my cousin when I defied his perfect arrangement for my career but I didn't deserve the forced kiss by my little crush on the underground tunnel while his hand forcefully explored under my oversized shirt . I wasn't the prettiest girl growing up , I knew that . But I also knew that I was considered to be cute enough to land enough attention . My good girl image grew nothing but desires upon the masked wolves around the school , college and universities oh and the part time work places I took secret jobs at .
I was secretive for obvious reasons , growing into an extremely religious family , an over protective father , with known anger issues and a stressed mother who needed nothing but a little rest away from all the daily dramas she had to face , I learnt keeping all to myself yet pretending I was an open book . Ha , now that I think about , it's no wonder I grew suicidal , and they found . The uncanny scars only 2 done by me rest by the little assaults here and there and mini accidents , would bruise easily . What my mother or anyone never knew was I didn't stop hurting myself like I said and my psychologists believed me to , I just learned how to not leave a mark . Not a big visible one at the least . I loved the feeling of relieve as the extreme pains surged through me while the blood dripped down my wrist . No , they weren't from the old cuts , they were from the multiple syringes I hid beneath my bed and disposed off from behind the bathroom windows . I remember the times I finished dripping enough and dragging my weak body to the class , returning a nice trained smile at that senior guy and then the cute boy at my class while adiusting myself beside the old friend I knew bad feelings for me for over a few years while pretended to not know . I did a fine job at pretending to not notice the gaze that fell upon the excessively enlarged curve on my upper body from the popular and liked student council's president while we sat through the meetings . I didn't like the attentions upon my little body with enough curves to get some to drool and many to judge . Hurt and lonely , at times I cried for real but making sure no one heard my sobs . It wasn't that hard when you live in a three - story house made for at least sixteen people to live with more than enough space but only four living in it excluding the maids . What I did to spend most of my time other than pretending and hurting ? I wrote music , played a couple instruments and sang a bit mostly humming to myself , but more than all that , I read . I finished all the books , even the boring ones , from the library at home and in all the institutes I read in . I loved reading online too , countless stories and news , poems and muse , one after another without resting from dusk till dawn . And I read the weird articles , things I wouldn't know like how being a princess with happy ending felt .
I heard that whilst the last 7 minutes , your whole life replays itself it self in your eyes , I read about the beauty of death as you hallucinate the changing colours of the sky , the grief as you think about the ones you loved . Yet as my body gives up trying to keep me above the water , as my light body , now feeling so heavy , slowly lands itself below hundreds of feet deep in the ocean , all I feel is the feeling of suffocating and urge to be alive , a need to call for help but giving up knowing I can't . Now I know that the sky doesn't change colours while you struggle to keep the last bit of consciousness in you . It just goes clear , so much clearer even from this deep in the salty water that once stung my eyes yet feels so normal at the moment . My breathless body will be lost until they look desperately for it , while I spend looking onto the sky with my nightly thoughts . It's a very beautiful night indeed .
