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My chest hurts.
It won’t stop.
I can feel my throat closing up.
All I want to do is cry and scream for help. But I can’t… That will bring the attention of those around me. And I’m not an attention whore.
The laughter starts in my head. “Yeah right,” it says.
My left eye twitches. My throat is dry. My chest feels heavy.
What can I do to make it stop?
“Nothing,” I hear it whisper. “That’s your problem, you can’t do anything. You’re useless. When are you going to get that through your head.”
“Go ahead, cry. You know you want to, and then everyone will come over and go Oh what’s wrong? And you’ll just prove that you are the attention whore.”
I close my eyes and fight the tears, but I know my face shows that there’s something wrong.
“Keep up that look and someone will finally stop to say something about it whore.”
I fight to school my face into blankness and sit higher up in my chair instead of slumped in defeat.
“That flimsy mask won’t last long, but go ahead and try. That’s all you can do, try. You won’t succeed. You’ll break, just like you always do you worthless waste of space.”
Then there’s silence. I linger on the last sentence. And my eyes show defeat, I can feel it. I really hate the truth about myself.
For today… there is no light for me.
For today, I’ve lost this battle. But I’m too stupid and stubborn to give up. So I’ll be the automaton, because that’s the only way I can make it through the day.
I can’t break down; I won’t be the attention whore today. I won’t… But I am defeated today.
For now, the voice in my head has nothing more to say. It doesn’t have to, it knows it’s won.