Darkness

• Freya Willis, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2010

Some of the hardest things are easy; some of the easiest things are hard. That is the way it is with me. I can divide fractions, and work out algebraic formulas. I can play piano and light a fire with wet sticks. I can pitch a tent by myself and act anything on stage. I just can’t talk about how I’m feeling. I can’t tell anybody the things that are bothering me. I can’t talk about anything that involves my deep emotions. I hardly ever stop talking, yet when someone asks me ‘what are you thinking’ I am rendered speechless. Sometimes all I want is for someone to say ‘what are you feeling’ or ask if I’m okay and actually care, nobody ever does. Everybody is too busy with their own lives. I don’t know what I’d say if someone did ask me. I want to think I could voice what I’m feeling, but only one word describes it and I can’t say that word. I feel caged and full of darkness. Nobody realises because I hide it all behind a veil of happiness. Most of the time I am happy. It is after happy, that darkness falls. I am left helpless by this darkness. It is the kind that eats at you gradually from the inside. It feeds on negativity and sadness. I tell myself that everything is okay, when it isn’t. I push myself forward and remind myself that I am strong. I convince myself that if I deny it, I will be free, that it will go away. It never does. It is like a volcano lying dormant. I remember when everything was easy, when I didn’t care about anything. I always like to think I am strong but I am not strong enough to face my own fear. I am most scared of fear and my darkness is full of fear. Instead of being strong and facing fear and darkness, I hide and pretend it isn’t there. Only it is there. Once too much pressure builds up, my volcano blows it top and the fear and darkness comes, rushing towards me at a hundred miles per hours. Only because I ignored it, it is more terrible and more painful than anything I have ever known. It burns everything inside of me and I have no way of stopping it. I can do nothing and say nothing. It leaves me weak and fragile. I am left helpless; gradually however I begin to build up again. Then I go back into the same pattern and it happens all over again. Every time I convince myself its over, passed away, moved on, it comes back. It is the darkness in my light, the rain in my sunshine. But then the worst thing happens; I become used to it. Used to weakness, used to limitations and used to gloom and misery; I become used to my depression.