The Anxiety We Hide From

[Angel24]

This is a short story I wrote for a contest, it's based on the life of someone who I used to follow on tumblr and what I saw of their life, with some of my own issues mixed in there:)

 

 

 

 

“Welcome to death, I will be your tour guide.” A voice announces. I try opening my eyes but they are too heavy to budge. What’s going on? The last thing I remember is that I was working on an English report at the desk in my room, but what after that? I feel a weight on my right hand and manage to flex my fingers to grasp the item. A book. Is it my journal? I couldn’t stand losing that, it’s my sole method to keep the mismatched thoughts in my brain straight.

 

“Are you gonna get up anytime soon?” The voice continues. “Death hit you hard, didn’t it?”

 

I finally recognize the voice.

 

“Very funny, Ryan.” I groan as I could finally open my eyes.

 

“Mom wants you up, we’re going into town.” My brother tells me and saunters out of my room. I sit up on my bed and look around in confusion; what happened to my report? With some difficulty, and a bit of cracking from my bones, I get to my feet and stumble my half-asleep legs over to my desk on the other side of the room. Just like the night before, pages of loose-leaf are flayed out all over the wooden surface.

 

“Must’ve been tired last night, I don’t remember going to bed.” I mumble to myself. Not only did making my way into bed escape my memory, after reading over my report I find that what I had written made no sense. What was meant to be a paper about personality disorders seemed to have somehow morphed into a paper of adoration for mall cops; at least, with a quick read over, I realize what I wrote is amazingly moving and heartfelt.

 

Getting over the essay, I leave my room and venture down the short hallway to the kitchen where I find my mother washing breakfast dishes. A cough stirs in my throat and as hard as I try to keep it down, her ears catch the quiet squeak from my mouth.

 

“You finally decided to get up, did you?” She growls at me.

 

“And you ate breakfast without me.” I retort with venom.

 

“We were hungry. Now hurry up and get ready.”

 

Obviously, my relationship with my mother is fragile at best. After many years of child favouritism and a horrible strong focus on various boyfriends, I lost most of the love I once had for her years ago; this kind of back and forth between us was nothing new.

 

I reluctantly decide to forget breakfast and dart to the bathroom for a quick shower. The water was cold, my brother probably used all the hot water before me, but I fight the freezing temperature and literally jump out of the closed-in four walls before even washing out all of the shampoo in my hair. I am determined not to be left behind like every other time my mom promised to take me shopping, so wearing nothing but a towel around my body, I run to my room across the hall.

 

Back in my room, I trip over piles of dirty clothes and bags of garbage until I make it the beat up dresser next to my bed. I pull out one of my favourite anime shirts and a pair of black leggings comes wrapped around it so I decide to wear them as well. With the shirt on and still pulling up the pants, I hobble out of the room to return to the kitchen with a small amount of pep in my step.

 

“Not today, Mother.” I whisper proudly to myself.

 

I spoke too soon.

 

Not only is my mother or my brother not there waiting for me, the curtains on the windows and doors are all drawn closed as if no one is home. I guess that means I’m a no one.

 

Disappointed yet again, I make my way back to lie down on my bed and wrap myself up in a cocoon of blankets. I contemplate the idea of playing some video games or drawing something but even with an efficient amount of sleep in my tank, I have no energy to get up. Surprisingly enough, my eyes stay dry even though my heart aches and I can’t get an understanding of what I’m feeling; I wonder if it means that I’m stronger than I used to be but I immediately shut that idea down.

 

The quiet around me should be comforting, no yelling, no arguing, and nobody blaming me for every problem in the house, but it's not. The silence is only a painful reminder of being left behind and that I'm the sole person in this broken house.

 

I sound depressing, don't I? Unfortunately this is just a layer of my issues. Aside from the anxiety that talks constantly in the back of my mind, I live with an extreme case of avoidant personality disorder that most often prohibits me from getting out of the house and socializing. I'd almost be willing to say I basically live on the internet but even there I hide myself from others; I just watch everyone else's perfect lives pass by and envy every post of happiness and fulfillment. They seem almost fake though, I mean, how could a person constantly be that happy and strong all the time? I for sure don't believe in it.

 

My room is my safe place to hide from the world. With my video games, my piano and drawing pad, I find a small amount of joy in my life, yet I think it's enough, to survive anyway. I may be depressed but I can still sometimes manage to see some of the light of the world. Sure, I don't know if I could ever leave and live and survive on my own, but it's not hurting me any more to stay here.

 

Eventually the blankets wrapped around my body convince my mind that I am tired and I drift into a deep sleep. I dream about finally getting enough money to buy a game that I’ve wanted for months since its release in January. There’s an air of excitement unfamiliar to me yet it’s comforting. Suddenly, the dream shifts to an overhead scene of my mother mad at somebody and cursing at them endlessly, and that feeling of happiness has disappeared just as quick as it had come. Through the darkness surrounding my mother I manage to make out the silhouette of who she is angry at; the receiver of her fury is none other than yours truly, but I find myself unhurt by what it is she’s saying.

 

When my eyes open again the red of my alarm clock reads 1:30AM. Sliding off the bed and onto the floor, I pull my cramped body to its feet and drag it through the dark and to the door. I wander to the kitchen and as I walk in caress the wall for the light switch; once flipped, I start walking over to the fridge when something catches my eye.

 

On the table is a plastic shopping bag with a note on it; I get close enough to read it and almost laugh at the piece of paper. On it, my mother's handwriting proclaims that the contents of the bag are for me, and for me to enjoy myself for once. A sudden wave of nervousness hits me and I struggle with myself to pick it up; eventually I do and, forgetting about getting food like my original intention, I hurry back to my room to open the mystery bag.

 

I drop the bag onto my desk and the contents make the sound of falling hard plastic. Sitting down on my computer chair, my fingers start to tremble although I don’t understand why. The shaking makes it difficult to open the bag but I manage to pull the tied handles apart and reveal the contents.

 

Inside is the game from my dream.

 

Fighting back tears of happiness and a rare feeling of ease, I open the game case and find a note from my mother tucked inside.

 

‘Hope this is the one you wanted.’ It said.

 

I guess sometimes a distant mother can come through after all.

[Guest McLeodLot65]

Thank you for sharing this. *hug*