Six feet from the edge

I can't believe I just let it leak out like that.
I know only a select few of you read this.
SO I might as well pour my heart and soul into this.
To make it clear why I'm always going for walks at night.
Why I hate my father.
Why Malaysia is so important to me.
Why I'm me.

My mother died when I was going through my last months of sixth grade.
Yes, my mother.
The one who gave birth to a 4 kilo, asian Tommy Junior Lee.
Jeannie Tan was my everything.
She was the one to pick me up when I fell.
The one to clean up my wounds and keep me company when I felt down.
Of course, at that time I never even brushed the thought of loosing her.
I never wanted to.
Those golden years every one labeled as primary school.
Yeah, those awesome years of catch and 50 cent Dim sims.
I had to end those "golden years" with the memory of my mother's hand slowly loosing grip of mine.
I graduated without a mother.
I lost the only thing that was keeping me cemented to the ground.
The only person I could run to, when the darkness consumed what daylight there was left in my room.
She was my mentor, my psychiatrist, my super-hero, my pillar of strength...my mother.
I remember every single passing second of her death.
I remember it as clearly as you can see your feet.
No child should ever go through that.
Never.
Ever.

I was lying beside my mother when she died.
In that white, disinfected room with the whirring of life support machines and what not.
I promised myself that I wouldn't let it happen.
I promised myself that things would get better.
My own father lied to me that she was getting better.
When those machines went off screeching and beeping.
I knew it was it.
They turned it off.
Why did they turn it off.
Why did they have to let me see it.
Why didn't I run away.
She looked at me.
She was gasping for air.
She was dying...
I was panicking, all those weeks of promising myself this wouldn't happen.
The tears just came.
When she stopped breathing,
and her hand slid away from mine.
That was when I ran to the seats outside and cried.
That was when my whole life was turned upside down and inside out.
That was the start of my life...

After that, my whole life has been a living hell.
Day after day, I added layers to this mask I put on when I talked to people.
This mask was the only thing that kept all those dreadful past memories away from people.
I've never let go of it.
I never plan to.
Not once, not ever.
The only time I am truly myself.
Is when I'm with myself.
Alone
That's what those walks are for.
To take off that mask and rub the crusty remains of tears off my face.
When my mom died, when that mask was made.
That was when I made a pact to myself.
I promise never to let people know what was going on in my head.
Deep inside, I was brooding.
I was continously thinking.
There are no resolutions to this.
There never will be.
No shrink will ever cure me.
I won't let them.
This mask, this beautiful invention of mine.
It's the only thing I have thats keeping me sane.
I feel comfortable hiding behind it.
No one knows its there.
No one has ever tried to look past it.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
Maybe my eyes are black for a reason.

I'm a damaged character.
I always will be,
I still get along with people.
I still have friends.
And if having a mask is the only way to keep this life I have.
Then so be it.
This mask covers up the scars of my past.
Those scars will never heal.
They will never vanish into thin air.
I don't expect them to.

Many times I've told myself that there would be a rainbow after the gloomy rain.
Seems like my life is just a long dark tunnel and I'm feeling my way through.
There isn't light at the end of it.
There never will be.

Don't pity me,
Don't sympathize,
Don't even try and understand me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not denying my past.
I'm not denying my identity.
I'm just trying to live life without people having to think about what they say before they talk to me.
I just want people to talk to me and not realise what a terrible and damaged person I am.
I'm not into long fringes and black clothing.
I'm not into screamo music and cutting myself.
I express myself in a way that no one understands.
I like it that way.

Will I write more?




Tommy Lee Junior
Born 6th July
Lost his mother on that cold rainy night.