Short Story - Miscommunication

01:20

By Gina Hartley

"I close my eyes for a moment. Forget about the world around me. Focus on my breathing. Try to maintain deep, slow, steady breaths. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I feel my chest caving in and out as the classroom walls threaten to close in on me. I can feel my breathing rapidly speeding up until I’m gasping for air as I try to control it. I mustn’t cry. Then people will know something’s wrong. They can’t know my secret. I’ve always been the girl who’s there for everyone else when no one’s been there for me. And I’m okay with that but I can’t do it. I just can’t cry. People don’t understand what it’s like to be me. They don’t understand what it’s like to carry a secret of this magnitude. They might think they have a clue but they really have no idea. And I just can’t bear to tell them. It just wouldn’t be right to take the focus off them for once.

Living in the shadows like I do, it’s hard. You’d imagine it to be dark and gloomy but the lens is crystal clear. I’ve seen many things I’m sure I wouldn’t normally have seen and heard. And I’ve heard a lot of secrets. More than many other people know. You know that metaphor, “Bursting at the seams?” I’ve encountered it many a time in all the books I’ve read but I’ve never once really related to it. I realise now that it’s exactly how I’m feeling. I was bursting at the seams with secrets and now I’m bursting at the seams, struggling not to cry. I feel my chest heaving again. It seems like every time I feel in control, I think of what I was told on the weekend and I feel my eyes glazing over. They always seem to be glazing over. Living in the shadows may be hard but it gave me perspective. I realise now that you can’t trust anyone. People may act like they care but I can assure you they don’t. No one cares about you. Sounds harsh and it was harsh when I first learnt that but I’ve seen a lot of people learn this the hard way.

This is a self-obsessed world we live in and it makes me sick. This entire web of social media is not making our world a better place. A web where people take photos of themselves to get sycophantic praise from others.  No matter how much I want to tell someone something, I know they’re too busy thinking about their own life to even care. It makes me sad but at least I know not to bother anymore. There’s no point. Humans weren’t meant to be like this. Our world wasn’t meant to be like this! What happened to simple courtesy like please and thank you? Have we become so lost in technology that we’ve lost ourselves? All these questions in my head are swarming me and I see no easy answers. I feel so overcome by thoughts and secrets that I feel I might collapse at any moment, my eyes threatening to overflow again. I feel faint, realising I can’t hold it in much longer. I’m sick of this, I’m sick of being strong. I might be the girl who’s strong when everything seems to be going wrong but right now I just want to cry. I clench my fists into a ball and I can feel my fingernails pushing into my hand. The pain almost pulls me together as I imagine a cage filled with secrets. One by one, I let these secrets go and I can almost feel the rush of air as they sail away in the breeze. My mind starts to refocus on the one secret at hand and that’s when I know that there’s no way I can stop these tears from flowing.

I open my eyes and there’s no time to think before the tears start spilling. I try to control my breathing but I hiccup and I feel everyone’s eyes penetrating me. Kyra, a girl sitting next to me who has told me her fair share of secrets, looks at me with big, dark, worried eyes. Please don’t ask it. Please don’t ask it. I plead silently.
“Beth, are you okay?”
I burst into tears and make for the classroom door, past all my fellow classmates. I’ve helped nearly all of them, and I see all the looks of surprise on their faces. Surprised that someone like me is crying. Surprised that someone else other than them might actually have something wrong with their life. I lock myself in the toilet and sit on the seat. I try to control myself. Slowly, I steadied my breathing and wiped the tears away so I can think. I hear people shouting my name but I’m not moving anywhere. I like it in here; it’s quiet and calm. I feel like breaking apart again but I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just wish I lived in a time where things weren’t so complicated. I know people will ask me about my secret but how can I tell them? Do I start with the bruise on my lower spine? How can I tell them that my chemo and radiotherapy begins tomorrow? That my hair’s going to fall out? That in a couple of months I’ll have to have bone marrow transplantations? How can I expect to tell anyone in this self-obsessed and sycophantic world that I’ve only got about a year left to live?"


I wrote this story a while back now when I became aware of just how narcissistic I was.  I knew people wouldn't, but I wanted them to shower me with compliments; to look at me and  to notice me.   I realized however, that they were really just too busy hoping that I would look at them, and notice them. And so I begun too, and I realized how much of a difference it made to their self-esteem and to their day. I urge all of you reading this, to at least once, try to listen to someone. And I don't mean listen to them and be glad that their problems aren't yours. I mean really listen to them, even just for a few minutes and then never again.

It is true that those minutes could make all the difference, 

Until next time, 
Gina xx

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