I hate the noise. Every decibel of the surrounding chaos of teenage hormones and trivialities irks my very being. I hate them. The annoying girls and boys that aren’t using their perfectly functioning eyes to focus on their paths to their destinations but find me undeserving of at least a mumbled sorry when they brush past me. Screw it; I don’t care much either.
I hate the silence. I loathe the echoing, grating quietness that grasps at the pinhole of emptiness in your very soul and rips it open at the worst possible moments; engulfing you in all its despair. There is no such thing as a comfortable silence. All silences are filled with the sounds of dying dreams and the images of another soul’s candlewick going out. My own flame went out long ago.
I love the inane chatter. I adore the stupidity, the loudness, the illogical banter spewed from the mouths of the inexperienced. It makes the silence shut up; keeps the quietness in its place. I join in, as often as I can, grinning like the fool I play and roughly patting the back of any other fool, whether they are a part of the game or just NPCs themselves. I love the madness and I partake in it as often as my broken soul allows.
I love, more than anything, the quiet. The natural vacuum devoid of the chatter, devoid of the lachrymose images of fading souls and more importantly, devoid of the distractions. The silence is always comfortable. It is the perfect occasion to observe and acknowledge the fading happiness in someone’s eyes, identifying individuals as players in this game of life. The others, whose eyes shine bright continually, can be identified by method of elimination, as fools and non players, or perhaps they’re just very good at this game; too good for me to be made aware of. I can tell, in these silences, which individual sits on my walls and which has entry only via the doors I open. The quietness provides you the opportunity to scan the playing board, to remind yourself whether the game is chess, or checkers or something gorier like F.E.A.R. The silence is your friend.
Bipolarity; it’s not a mental illness; it’s just a method of thought.