You know how people say that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, and that there is always a silver lining? How people keep saying that no matter what happens, it happens to help you grow? How people say that every obstacle in your way is just a limit you should defy?
Until a few months ago, I'd probably say the same. I'd tell you that last one, about defying limits, with no hesitation and with full glee. I'd say that there was no point living in the dark, pretending everything was wrong, when you could simply step out into the light, where it was nice and Happy. I'd have said just how greener the grass is on this side of the fence, not knowing, to any degree, just how poorly I had thought those words out.
Until just a few months ago, I couldn't have said that I knew what it was like to live in that dark spot of life. I couldn't have told you that I knew what it felt like to think that your world is ending. All I would've known was what I learnt from TV shows, movies and a few novels I picked up for school reasons. I realised, quite recently, that those sources aren't all that accurate, nor reliable.
I, even back then, knew everyone went through tough times. Some don't make it out at all, while others get out, but with lingering side effects. I had taken this as nothing for me to worry about; I mean, I am Rainbow Dash, after all. What is there for someone as awesome as me to worry about? My answer to that question had remained to be nothing.
Until a few months ago, that is. Not more than half a year ago, things began changing, I began falling further and further into a state which I now call; the black state.
More than half a year ago, something changed, something big and something drastic. Something that had ruined everything in my life. Something that made me a way better liar than I was initially.
They say death comes to us all in different ways. Again, I never got what that meant. I figured it was just a fancy way of saying; everyone dies different, not that everyone copes with death differently.
Some people spiral into grief, which, at times, leads to insanity. Some people drink away their sorrow, hoping that the bottle of alcohol would make them forget the one(s) they lost. Some people cry it out until their heart's content. Some spiral back into hobbies and passions, which help them deal with what is happening in the real world.
Some may even do all of the above, in stages. I think Twilight called it the stages of grief, or something along those lines.
When I first got the news, the tragic news, my first instinct was to deny it all. I didn't believe the letter I read, I didn't believe what my own eyes were telling me. I had not believed, not even after the ten times my mom had to explain it to me. I couldn't believe any of it. None of it could have been true.
But it was.
It took me far longer than it should have for that little phrase to sink in.
"He's gone."
It took me too many tries to learn it. To learn what those little words actually meant. They were placed right next to each other, and could've meant practically anything. From he's just out on a trip like he usually is, to he's gone out shopping for some treats or soccer balls.
Or it could've just as well meant that he's not going to back.
The only way this registered in my head was cause of my mom. She sat me down one day, and asked me where I thought my dad had gone. I told her I thought he had gone on a business trip to Mainhattan. I told her that I thought he was going to come back in a month or two. And I told her that I thought the letter didn't mean anything, and he was perfectly fine. She had looked at me as if I was five, babying me.
It seems fitting right now, but back then, that was the last thing I wanted nor knew fit.
She then proceeded to tell me something that still rings in my head every time I think of that day.
"He's not coming back, sweetheart. He's staying in Mainhattan, for good"
She told me.
And, as though a lightbulb had just gone off in my head, it sunk in.
"I'm never seeing dad, again, am I?"
I had asked my mom. She gave me a sympathetic look, before shaking her head with a visible frown and a look of heartbreak on her face. That was the first and only time I had burst into tears because of his passing. I cried and cried. And didn't stop for a good, long while.
That was the first step I took into where I am now.
My dad's death had come as nothing less than a shock. And it took a few people, days maybe weeks, to digest and get over it. Those people were some of his colleagues that never really got to know my dad all that well. Knowing that someone they had talked to and had to work alongside with, was dead, had apparently hit them quite hard.
Some close colleagues, good friends and distant relatives had taken a it bit more heavily.
They had their jobs and lives to fulfil, but that didn't stop them from contacting us, to see how we were dealing with things, attending the funeral and, it definitely didn't stop them from sending me all sorts of trinkets and gifts.
I never touched any of them, it reminded me of my father, he used to buy me so many, I had a whole collection of buttons, badges, spoons - don't know why I had those. I kept each and every one of those. Stored them in a small, safe box in the attic. I stored up there, way up there in the attic, so I wouldn't have come across it unless I really wanted to.
I kept those in hopes that, one day, he'd come back for them, searching for his things. If he didn't come back for me and mom, at least he could visit just to see those old things again. I wanted nothing more than for him to want to see them, to see me, again bad enough that he'd drop by, say hello, maybe stay for good, and not leave us, again.
Needless to say; he never did.
My mom hadn't taken the news all that well either. She had kept a grip of things for nearly a months, but even she knew she couldn't keep doing it the way she was; hiding it, burying it so no one knew. She was trying to find methods to cope with it, when one of her friends suggested she go out with them for a drink, to help clear her mind. I had had a sleepover at Pinkie's on that night, and didn't know she had gotten a drink or two, or ten.
When I got home that night, the entire house smelt of alcohol. Walking into the living room, I had immediately spotted my mom passed out on the couch, a bottle of bear in her hand. The TV had been switched on, and was playing something that I didn't pay attention to.
My mind raced, trying reason with what my eyes were displaying. My mom was not a drinker, never had been, not even when her own parents past, did she pick up a single bottle of any kind of alcoholic drink. Not even one. And hence, seeing her fully drunk like that had scared me, I'll admit.
I had hoped that by morning she'd have sobered up and have herself back together, but to my utter horror, I found that there were even more bottles of bear scattered around the living room.
I suppose, you can guess where it went from there.
She was never really all that violent with me, not many times, but there's always exceptions.
She was in an especially bad mood, having gotten reminded of why she was drinking in the first place. I was the one who brought it up, having gotten sick of smelling alcohol around the house, and seeing my mom act like she never had before. She had grabbed a chair and had thrown it at me. I had dodged it quite easily, but she didn't let go; she was fuming.
She kept on throwing; chairs, vases, paintings, photo frames. At one point, I got worried she might pick the dinning table and throw it my way.
I had tried my hardest to calm her down, tell her I was sorry. But she hadn't listened, to one word I said.
"Mom, please, just listen! I'm sorry!"
I tried calming her down that way, but she didn't have it. She had quickly become fed up, and ran right for me. She had been apart of the track team, all the way back in high school, and she hadn't forgotten how to run. She had pinned me to the wall quite quickly and it had not been long when she began throwing punches. She had started spitting all sorts of curses and threats my way, saying just how unwanted I had been for her.
"No one loves you! You've been nothing but a nuisance, all throughout that fucked up life of yours! I never wanted you, an' never will!"
She had screamed, her alcohol scented breath was all that I'd smelt. She had delivered about four or five hard punches to my cheek at that point, and my face had begun bleeding. I didn't scream, not that I could anyways; she had her hand covering my mouth. At that point, I had stopped resisting as wel, my body had completely given up on me.
"No one loves the fuckup we have to call Rainbow Dash! Not me, not those so-called friends of yours, and definitely not your father!"
Every time those words cross my mind, something in my chest starts aching. Something in there just wants to cause me pain, or something.
At that point, all I had left were my friends. My family had crumbled, and I watched it do so, not even thinking to act on it. I want my family back, I really, really do.
And you know how they say friendships aren't forever but family is?
Lately, I've been feeling like neither' gonna last. It just feels like no one's going to stick around, like everything's changing, and it's changing for the worst. And eventually, I'll be left completely isolated and alone. I really don't like being alone. I hate feeling like no one's around. It hurts.
For that exact reason, I've been sealing up everything. I've been closing everything, letting no one - not my friends, not my crush, no one - see just how miserable I've been lately. If they know just how much of an inconvenience I am, they would have no reason not to leave me, and right now, I don't know if I can live in a world like that. In a world where everything is just against me, in every way possible.
I want things to go back to the way they were before. I want things to be better, to be happier, to be awesome, again. I don't even know how that's going to work anymore. I don't remember how we had so much fun, how i had so much fun without feeling like a waste of space. I want to remember that feeling. Lately, it's been as though I'm just a robot on autopilot. Like I'm not the one in control anymore. I'm just doing what I need to, to survive. Drink, eat, sleep, study. Repeat.
And the worst part of it all is; I have no idea why I'm feeling this way!
I don't know if I'm overreacting to everything. I don't know if I'm being dramatic about this, or if I'm really as unhappy as I think I am. My mind keeps telling me I'm fine, and that I'm just being overdramatic, while my body tells me otherwise. I don't know which to believe anymore!
I've got these bruises from when my mom had the will power to get off the couch and get mad at me. My heart aches every five minutes, when I think of either the better days or the only letter I got telling me of his death or when she first began drinking. Those thoughts course through my mind more often than not. I haven't been eating well, I can go days without even a bite of food. I've been sleeping in, managed to sleep in until four in the afternoon the other day.
Knowing all that, my mind still tells me that I'm overreacting. That the bruises will go away, that my heart only hurts 'cause of the beating I had, that I haven't been hungry lately, and that I'm just tired due to stress. In fact, most of those things I mentioned before this, could all be cocked up to either that beating I had endured, or stress.
It's weird; everywhere I turn, it's like I'm always surrounded by this feeling... feeling of... emptiness. It's like there's no where I can go without that sensation following me around. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.
I want someone to be there. To listen to me. Someone to tell me that Im going to be okay. Everything will be. Nearly everyone I can think of is either too busy lately, or I just don't trust them enough.
There's only one person I can go to. I know they're not busy, I know they'll hear me out, and I know I trust them.
I just hope she doesn't decided to kick me out, tell me to leave, and shoo me away. I just hope she really is as trustworthy as everyone says she is. I hope she'll help me get out of this hellhole.
I wonder what she'll think of me when she finds out everything I've been keeping. I wonder if she'll know how to help me through it. If she'll throw me out the door, claiming I was too much of an inconvenience - a waste of space, worthless, piece of trash.
Well, there's only one way to find out.
'Knock Knock!'
The End!
Author's Note
Hey folks!
My first fic this year! Yay! Starting off strong ay? No? Alright
This is my first and probably my only fic with these themes in 'em. My new year's resolution was to try reaching out of my comfort zone, and hence this.
The shipping in this is up to your interpretation. I intended to make it official, but you know, I think I like it this way instead!
Tell me; who do you think is Dash's crush?
Hope this didn't sour your day too much, and hope it was worth the little read
MSz Out!
