Jb Knows

A Teen Writer’s Trip to the Top

I Was Just Thinking… About That Speech You Gave December 25, 2008

Can I just scream?  That would get it out.  Get IT out.  All out, all gone, it’s lost.  I’m lost.  Truly don’t know what to say.  Don’t get weird on you?  What is that supposed to mean?  On you?  Don’t be weird.  I was already weird, but you certainly are not helping.  This is driving me crazy.  You are driving me crazy!  Do you want me to be crazy?  It sure seems like your goal.  Get me alone, crazy, stupid.  (Alone.  We are alone.  Two stupid lonely souls combining to get… You are not alone.  You already have…) No, not stupid, terrible thing to say.  That someone so smart could be so stupid.  (Might have to take me out back and…)

Me?  Smart?  Smart aleck, smartastic, sarcastic?  Yes.  Smart?  No.
My blood is running cold and I am shaking.  Not from the cold, I’m used to the weather.  But this -this thing- makes me shiver, my hairs stand on end.  On end, the end.  Is this my end?  End is definite, death too final, too simple.  (Suicide is no longer an option.) The dead are cold.  Am I dead?  I think, therefore I am, therefore living.  Can I be and still be dead?  It’s not a physical cold, (physical.  Physical cold.  Physical hot.) it’s a psychological cold.  All in my head.  All in.  All or nothing, in my head.  Making it up, of course not intentionally.  Or, yes, intentionally, subconsciously.
Talking about it does not calm anybody down.  It is not up for discussion. (SHUT UP) It is to reflect and drive me crazy, but it is never to be discussed.  With anyone, especially you.  I cannot talk to you about you.  (You: the object of my affection, my attention.  My excuse for lack of attention to things others deem important.)
Take a pain killer, numb myself.  Hardly solves anything.  Seems that whenever I am numb is exactly when I need to feel.  (Feel what?  Feel who?  Feel life.)

 

The Best Things Are Those You Ignore

First thing in the morning, the shaking is not that bad. I’d stand with you for twenty minutes, but it won’t come to me. I’m not awake enough to feel the pain, remember why I am there. I’d stand there for twenty minutes, foolishly feeling happiness, but deep down I must know. The shaking starts up after first hour, passing time. I’m going towards your class, or at least next door. Chemistry. I walk in and instantly have to go to the water fountain. I need a drink. My mouth is dry and tastes like copper. I past you, sitting at the counter and hope you don’t look up. Or you are standing there, right outside your door. I keep walking, duck my head and you give me a strange look. You ask me on the way back if I am angry at, or if I am avoiding, you. I turn and walk into class, not answering the question.

I shake for the first fifteen minutes. At least. My partner, Heather, asks me what is wrong. I tell her that I’m just cold. Really cold. Tears swell up in my eyes and I fight them back. I hear you next door, talking to your class. You crack a joke and I hear everyone laugh. Someone goes over and closes the door, complaining about how loud you talk. Hey, I was listening to that.

It starts back up again the last five minutes. I have to past by your room to get to class. My feet turn me into your classroom while my head screams. Please don’t notice me shaking. Notice and fix it. I do not know what I want.

I now shake every passing time. I think that I might run into you, even though you are on the other side of the school. It’s possible, but not probable. So I write you these letters, hoping you would eventually understand without them. You’re not a mind reader, I will admit. Admitting is the first step to recovery.