An Ordinary Conversation

“You self-centered zombie with a blown-out-of-all-proportions ego, who do you think you are? Why do you insist on shutting me out like a child sent to play outside with her new toy and behind her, in the same house, people are crying over her own father? He is her father, goddamn it, she is the one who is supposed to be crying her eyes out over him not them! I’m here, look at me, thinking that you are the world to me when in fact I have no role in your life. Not a single pathetic despiteful role! Don’t walk out on me like that and go with them, I need you. Why do you love being and talking with them at all occasions? Is it because I’ll always be here for you no matter what? Is it because I’ll keep on loving you even if you neglected the fact that I’m alive at all? God, do you have to take me for granted at all times? Huh, tell me, stop right there and tell me for God’s sake. Look at me and TELL me that! Do you? You spend hours over the phone listening to their continuous nagging over sentimental bullshit, being so compassionate and understanding that I would get out of the room as fast as I could in order not to give myself the chance to doubt my sanity. Could this be the same guy who once I open my mouth to express an idea turns the deaf ear and automatically says that he’s too busy to hear me? Yes, HEAR me not listen to me. God, I just want to stab you over and over again till there’s not a single part in you which hasn’t been DEEPLY wounded or drowned with your filthy blood. And then you know what I want to do? I want to cry myself to sleep. Then, when I wake up in the morning, I’ll have breakfast beside your corpse. I’ll eat donuts, croissants, and drink tea so quietly and peacefully but with not a single smile on my face; just a solemn rigid figure with no expressions whatsoever. It’ll be a cheese croissant by the way. So what? Well, after it, I’ll go get a clean, new knife and stab it right into my heart and die slowly with a cynical smile on my face. I’ll like that. How many times have I tried to get out of my surrendered shell and speak out my despair? But no, I always was able to shut up myself instantly. What courage! What will! What self-respect! I’m a fucking goddamn hero for being able to smash down my own dignity! It’s my fault as well as yours and I know it. So guess what? One more reason to hate myself. NO! I hate you more than anything but I love you so. I seriously despise you for treating me this way, I detest you for letting me tolerate the continuous humiliation that you throw in my face. I can’t stand to see you putting me down and embarrassing me infront of myself, and in spite of my suddenly weak will. I’m hurt, I’m so goddamn hurt that I’ll be ashamed of myself if I cry but I can’t help it. I can’t help anything anymore. Though I’ve been dead for a long time now, I’m still suffering from an unbearable agony. And guess what? You never saw it, didn’t even take notice of it. But that’s O.K, it’s too late now. Too late. Too fucking late. Too late to snatch me out of it…it’s too late, too late, TOO GODDAMN LATE…GOD!”
“What’s wrong? I heard you shouting but didn’t figure out what you were saying. I was taking a shower and the water was… you know, so I just couldn’t hear you. What were you saying?”
“Ah nothing, just asking if you were going out tonight?”
“Yes, I’m sorry but I got to meet my friends in a restaurant and then we may be going out for a movie or something.”
“Ah, O.K.”