Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, don’t bother

Rating: R - what can I say, Ray has a foul mouth and washing it out with soap doesn’t seem to work

Pairing: None ... sorry, not today

Author's Notes: Depressed, over-tired and wired - not a good mix. Think of this as a pre-Fraser Ray if it helps cuz I’m usin’ RayK’s voice an’ he ain’t complainin’.

Once again this wasn't betaed so any mistakes are mine.

All comments, advice (on the story, not my mental health) and flames to wylt@hotmail.com, I need feedback like Kowalski needs Frase, gimme!

Facets (c) Wylt, April 2000.

How much can a person take before they break?

It’s a question that’s haunted me for a while now, cuz I take a step closer to breakin’ every day. Fuckin’ drama queen. Lissen ta ya.

I hate the people in my life who’ve pushed me inta self-recrimination, self-exploration an’ all those other self words that piss me right off. I hate the fact that when I get depressed, after a really good bout of insomnia, I get all ... whassa word? ... rhetorical wid myself.

I hate the fact that I’m a coward. That I’m insecure an’ no one notices. They all think the confidence they see, the bad-ass mother fucker who offers ta kick ‘em in the head at the drop of a hat, is the real person. They don’t know shit.

An’ ya know what really makes me laugh? I hate confrontation. I can’t stand it. I’d rather hide away somewhere, bury my head in the sand like an ostrich, but it’s somethin’ I do real well. One of the few things I do well.

All my life, I wanted ta be normal. Look normal, act normal. Self-delusion, another self word I’m real good at. Cuz I was a skinny-assed kid, with goofy teeth, gangly arms an’ legs an’ big glasses I never wore. I’d rather be blind than wear those fuckers again. But I was never ‘normal’.

An’ then I grew up some, an’ realised I liked bein’ different. I crave attention. I want ta be seen, for who I really am. ‘Cept, when I get attention, I get so fuckin’ scared an’ self-conscious that I run away. What the fucks with that? Can’t make my fuckin’ mind up ‘bout anythin’.

But I realised somethin’ taday that scares me more. I’m not different. I’m just fucked up. I’m ... emotionally stunted. All I know how ta be is contented or depressed an’ angry. Up an’ down, an emotional rollercoaster. There’s no in-between. I can’t remember the last time I was happy.

I can’t remember the last time I knew who I was.

Somewhere along the line, I turned inta one of them chameleons. I’m whatever people around me expect me ta be. One thing with my family, another thing with the few people who stick by me an’ somethin’ else completely at work. People always ask ‘who am I?’, but they know the basis of themselves, right? Not me.

So many facets, an’ each one looks like the whole person. I keep lookin’ fer myself in those facets, like searchin’ through a bunch of masks lookin’ fer yer own face. I can’t find it. I can’t find me, in there, amongst all the others.

Makes me realise why people off themselves, this depression. Haven’t got the guts ta do it myself, obviously not unhappy enough. An’ I know that, eventually, I’ll sleep an’ the depression will go away. Fer a while, anyway. Seems a bit pathetic, ta top yerself fer a month of bad sleep an’ depression. I’m not that far gone. I just wanna stop feelin’ like this. I wanna be everythin’ people think I am, the person people think I am. But I’m not. An’ I don’t know how ta be.

An’ ya know what really pisses me off? People don’t see it. They don’t see beyond the mask I show ‘em ta the depression an’ tiredness inside. Only conclusion I can come ta is that people don’t see what they don’t wanna see. Cuz I don’t show them.

But why should I? People don’t stay. They catch a glimpse of the need inside of me, the insecurity burnin’ inside of me, an’ they run fer the hills. Or divorce me. Should’ve guessed, I s’pose. Should’ve been smarter. Should’ve carried on alone. Independence. What I wouldn’t give.

Ta not need anyone or anythin’. Ta not care what anyone thinks. Ta know who I am, inside. Ta get rid of this soul-deep *weariness* that makes me look like I’m so laid back I’m horizontal. Cuz I can’t get the motivation ta care ‘bout much.

Who am I? I don’t know, but I hope I find out. An’ soon.

Finis