Laughter. And then silence. Voices. And then…silence again. I really had begun getting tired of this whole cat and mouse game I've been playing in my own mind. Laughing at my own jokes inside my own head, looking amused at my own comments, and the voices I didn't recognize bickering in my head like an insistent headache, plowing down onto me like bricks smashing against my head even harder now. Then all of a sudden…it all stopped. And for a brief moment, I felt sane again. I felt like the same old boy that would stop at the corner store to buy a piece of candy and stare longingly at the slingshot my mom would never buy me. I thought about all the adventures I had in my backyard with my shovel, my bucket, and my old childhood friend, Juliet. Where was she now? Who was she now? What had she gone off to do? Where was she living? Was she thinking about me too?! Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. I don't even have enough time to waste on myself, much less on an old childhood friend. I closed my eyes again, rubbing my temples, thinking back on all the memories, and cherishing the little time I had left until those voices would no doubt reappear in my mind. And somehow, I felt miracuously safe again just thinking about what my life used to be. What a wonder. My past was my solace. How utterly pathetic and embarrassing. Sometimes I just think I'm fooling myself when I think I can be the sane again. To somewhat of a degree, of course. Now I was just sitting. Waiting patiently. I knew right about now the voices in my head would be coming back spitting out arguments about things I buried deep inside my head. These voices…these voices somehow reminded me of all the therapy sessions I used to attend until I decided I was too good for a damned looney doctor. I didn't need someone telling me how incredibly deranged I was and why I should just be a normal 20 year old. Blah, blah, blah. BLAHDEEDA. It was all the same. But these voices were different. Repeating things over and over and over until my heart and my head had thought they had just about enough. Then, as if god had graced me with his presence and laid a hand on my shoulder, they all stopped. The constant flow of voices and the yells and screams were all blocked off now and replaced with silence. Once they came back, they had somehow gained strength. It was almost as if their little vacation inside my head was a moment for them to refuel and come back full force to taunt Justin Timberlake about all those little things. All the little things he had done wrong and criticize all the things he thought he had done right. This is when I really hated being myself. Not Justin, but THE justin timberlake who rode in fancy cars and pushed up on stupid, blonde bubble gum chewing POPSTARS. They would constantly remind me of all the things I didn't want to be reminded of. Things that I had shoved all the way to the back of my head and vowed never to let them escape. But the voices brought them back and I just kept pushing. Pushing, and pushing, and pushing. Screaming, scratching, hollering, and itching for them to just stop. I wanted to yell, to attract attention, to be everything I was inside, just to make them go away. Far, far, far away from justin timberlake. See, not many people really get me; they don't understand who I am or who I want to be, who I have to be. On the outside I may look like the Justin Timberlake, but on the inside, I strive to be the best in everything that I do. Success is usually the case, that is, until now. Now, now it was all just for saving my sanity. Making those STUPID LITTLE VOICES inside my head to stop. STOP. STOP. STOP. I wanted to yell at the top of the roof every word ever imaginable to hurt, destroy, and terrorize those ANNOYING VOICES INSIDE MY HEAD. And then I had realize that they'd never stop. They'd never stop yelling at me, clutching my heart, squeezing so tight, so hard that I thought it would all just explode. And of course, I, I would never stop being the Justin Timberlake that everyone knew or wish they knew. So one day, I did something about it. I was being a man, resolving the everpresent problem. I grabbed a butter knife from the small kitchenette inside the bus and smiled at it. It was this greedy, selfish little smile. It was the kind of smile that reminded you of a boy licking his ice cream on a hot, sweltering summer day. It was the kind of smile that almost made me want to jump for joy and these were one of the very few moments that I let my lips curl into this smile. This wonderful, ugly, nasty, greedy smile. Oh, how I loved this smile. Once I reached the bathroom, I locked it and made sure the lock was secure so no one would come to see if 'poor old justy wusty was OKAY.' I smiled and feeling satisfied, I took the knife and raised it above my head. I then began slamming it into my arm, applying more and more force with every blow. I could hear the puncture wounds form as I smacked down as hard as I could on my arm with that blunt little knife. STAB. STAB. STAB. It made a dull, thumping noise everytime the knife came down upon my skin. And everytime the knife came in contact with my arm, I would smile. That stupid, little, greedy, ugly smile I loved so much.
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