Story.
Each step you take.
Getting closer.
Makes it easier to fall on your face.
Throwing Punches - Paramore.
You’re so high, as if there is no limit. You’re already past the sky, and you’re still going up. Who cares that this tramp you’re currently on with your year group is hard, that your muscles are screaming in protest and you’ve got so many blisters that you don’t know where one stops and the other begins? You’re feeling great on the inside, and that is all that matters.
Everyone around you is exhausted, and yet you’ve still got the smallest of smiles creeping over your face, barely concentrating on the trail in front of you. You’ve been the spirit of the group all day, yelling back and checking if everybody is alright, singing songs and laughing at extremely random intervals.
Everybody thinks you’re crazy, but you’ve got something that’s hiding deep down inside of you, that you’ve sworn you’ll never show. It’s your only weakness, and if you stop smiling, if you give up, then you won’t be able to stop, you’ll loose your control and you will fall, losing everything you’ve ever done and ever lived for. It’s a weakness, your secret, and you don’t show weakness. Everybody in your year group thinks of you as the perfect girl, good marks, averagely pretty, a dancer, an actor and a bit of talent at netball. Whether they think of you like that in a good way, compliments and attributes, or the bad way, where they need something to gossip about, you don’t care. Because you’re on the top of the world, aren’t you?
You’ve got to be strong, you can’t show weakness, because that’s the only thing that keeps you, you. Most girls in the school, and some of the guys from the brother school know you as the perfect girl, and that’s the only reason your name passes through their lips. Maybe they’ve never actually met you, but it goes through people, and the better you act on the outside, the more smiles you have and give, the better the words are.
Because that’s your secret, that’s your only weakness. You can’t show weakness; you won’t show weakness. It’s a bit ironic and contradicting, but you’re a complicated person. Sometimes you talk in a certain way, including long and complicated words just so people cannot follow. So they just smile and nod, you talk like that so they won’t notice the cracks that begin to form on your exterior when you’re put under pressure.
And it’s like that a lot, you’re under constant scrutiny. It’s not just your fellow friends and students, its teachers too. They expect you to always have it right, that you can’t slip up, because you’re the best. They turn to you to set an example, like you’re one of the stabilizers in a house of cards. But if you stumble or wobble, then everybody falls. It’s terribly hard to keep up appearances.
- - -
You’re going fine; you’ve warmed up and taken off your gloves and hat. The group has already stopped for lunch and you’ve been so loud and excited, that it’s painful. You were at the back before, for a bit with your toilet buddy, so they’ve moved you to the front. But honestly, being at the back was better, you could walk in silence and just concentrate on taking step after step, making sure you were still going and not thinking about the emotions that were so close to breaking.
But now you’re at the front and everybody is following you, looking to the excited and smiley one for songs and words of encouragement. So you start up a trend of sorts, you ask your toilet buddy, Iris, to teach the first five of the group Chinese numbers for nicknames. There’s yourself, who is ya, then there’s Iris, who is ye. Then there is Arna and Katie, who are sam and sai respectively. Finally there’s Gemma who is nn. Arna makes up a song for it and you’re occupied a bit longer with distractions, walking higher and further with your strength building - or so you think.
- - -
Later on, you’ve removed your sweatshirt and you’ve stopped for another scroggin break, having a bit of chocolate, a handful of nuts and raisins, and a single, orange barley sugar. Feeling recharged and emotionally prepared, you stand up when everybody’s ready and you urge everybody on, a huge smile plastered over your face like a billboard. One of the teachers smiles too and does the same, and you feel a tinge of hopefulness deep down in your heart, that maybe you’ll last, that maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe.
You keep walking, noticing the beautiful bush that is surrounding you, trying not to walk into the mud and keeping upright, the pack of your back beginning to feel a little heavier on your back. But you’re going to be okay. Everybody’s talking and singing now, and you add in a comment or two every now and again, keeping things going. You’re constantly checking on your “Chinese buddies” and then yelling back checking everybody’s alright, asking people how they’re doing. You’ve still got a good three hours to go at least, but you’re confident that you can make it through the day.
You go down a hill, using the roots of a nearly tree as footholds and you keep moving. Breathing in deeply, inhaling the mountain air, you raise your face towards the sunshine that is filtering through the dense bush in lines and patches, catching a few rays on your face. There you go again - you’re happy. You release some of your emotions and smile, looking to leave your wall down for a bit, so you can relax.
You lower your head and keep your eyes to the trail, noticing a small creek up ahead. It’s not a muddy bog, which is terribly good news, so you’re optimistic, nothing can go amiss. But, I guess you didn’t touch wood, so you’ve jinxed yourself.
Putting your foot on the rock in the middle of the stream, you balance your weight on it and swing your leg towards the other side, not noticing the faint hint of green algae on the rocks, your eyes so attuned to the green bush that you’ve been seeing all day, that it just blends into the grey and sepia tones, camouflaging itself. Your worn sneaker looses grip and you fall, the gravity of your pack tipping you towards the left and you go down, sucking in a breath quickly.
There’s a thud and you feel a pound go through your upper thigh on your left leg and a sharp stab on your right hand as it collides with a rock. A sharp laugh - an encouraging laugh - comes from behind you as somebody offers you a hand and you stand up, the tears already welling in your eyes. You brush your legs off and walk slightly higher up the next small mound, before feeling your willpower break, and you raise a hand to your eyes, as if you were hiding the tears. You give a choked sob and a lot of people look at you, disbelief colouring their faces. You’re the life of the group, and it’s as if your world has been coloured to grey in the means of a second. The weakness swells within you and you struggle to hold it down, but you give up.
Katie gives you a hug and there are mumbled words of encouragement, maybe they’re still in shock that the eternally happy person is crying or maybe they just don’t care; that they’ve seen it all before. But where are the encouraging words for me? I’ve encouraged you, so will you repeat the favour?
Doctor Becker checks the small cut on your hand and you open your water bottle, tipping a bit on the cut and wincing with the pain, watching the diluted red dripping down your arm like red powerade, the moisture leaving a faint trace that you shake off, and thanking Iris you take the plaster she has offered, tucking the rubbish into your bra. You lift your head back up, you keep moving. Still, a few tears escape and you hurriedly wipe them away, locking your emotions deep down inside you. You keep moving, sniffing a bit and trying to translate everything other people say into French in your head, keeping yourself occupied while you put the rest of your concentration onto the worn path, falling behind a bit more.
- - -
A few stops later and there’s barely half an hour to go, only one other harmless fall under your belt, a few more nuts and half your drink bottle drained. You’re around third in the long line and you can nearly smell victory in the air, between the mixture of musty, drenched logs and leaf litter and the faint hint of sweat, the group of 27 people; 23 girls and 4 adults getting warmer, the day a few hours past its peak of heat, but the warmth showing no signs of subsiding, just yet. Your smiley emotion feels so real now, that you have the faint suspicion that it could be real, that maybe your acting his leaked into something real, something more stable.
The track is flat now and you hear a cry of discovery up ahead. You don’t do anything because Nicole and Arna, who are the current leaders, have cried wolf countless times in the past hour, after urging them to yell if they’ve seen the hut. Suddenly, you break through the last line of trees and you’re on a flat patch of grass. Barely twenty metres away there is a sign that clearly says: HUT, pointing to the right.
You freeze for barely a second and you give a cry of joy, ignoring how tired and exhausted you are, just ready to sit. You race up the hut with abandon, your heart thudding and giving more whoops of joy when you reach the top, whipping off your muddy and soaked shoes and walking over the threshold, into the small hut.
You barely notice that there is a table in the middle with a fire behind it, two sinks and two gas cookers to your left and another two gas cookers to your right, you sprint around the small corner to the left and hoist your pack onto the top of the long, wooden ledge, grabbing three mattresses down and throwing yourself across them, saving them for Iris and Mew.
Who cares that there’s no running water, that there’s no lighting, no hot showers or anything, we’re here and we’ve made it through the day, I’ve made it through the day.
- - -
The rest of the night is simply a blur, a freezing river swim that you’re the first to attempt and conquer, a beautiful cooked dinner and pudding, laughing at high points and low points, stumbling to the long drops in the dark, holding hands and singing songs on the way, yelling at everybody to shut up so we can sleep, and just drifting off, welcoming the darkness of sleep that holds no emotion and nothing of lasting effect.
- - -
The next day is harder, but it goes in the same pattern. You smile, have a bit of down times, at one point you’re feeling so tired, but nobody’s worried because you’re Zoe and you’ll bounce back again, you’re the happy and pumped one, so you’ll be fine. Right?
You have a hard uphill climb for most of the morning, the sun out again and the weather conditions and temperature at a perfect balance. You eat a weird lunch of a peanut butter and salami sandwich, but the food slides down and your stomach rumbles in appreciation, washing it down with a mouthful of water.
For the rest of the afternoon you have a hard downhill, with countless falls from everybody, light conversations, song making and repeating, a special walking order of: Katie, Zoe, Nicole, Arna, Gemma and Tessa and the general winding down of the tramp.
When you reach the swing bridge you’re in the front, you go as fast as you can across, trying not to fall over the edge and die. You reach the other side and you dump your pack, laughing in relief and sighing, sitting on top of it and just waiting for the rest of the group.
Then follows another freezing river swim when you’re yet again the first one to attempt and conquer, everybody truly accepting that you’re crazy. But you know that already, and you laugh with them - a true laugh from deep within, that they’re halfway to accepting your flaws, and that soon they’ll know your secret, but that’s okay.
You get back to school and you make your way home, feeling fine still after getting some food into you, drinking a 500mL V in the space of a few minutes, feeling the buzz relieve you, raise you for that final stretch.
- - -
When you get home, your smile fades as it always does. The happiness fades and you become subdued through out the quiet evening, just sitting at the computer listening to Paramore and The Midnight Beast, feeling tired and drained. You’re thinking, and you think too much. You’re over exaggerating of course, but you need to get it out of your system. So you do, not talking for around two hours straight, just typing a story of some sort about a tramp that was once upon a time, barely a distant memory. Or is it?
But really, am I meant to feel as if I'm on an all time low, like I'll never smile again? Feeling as if the words are just bubbling at my lips, and yet I cannot bring myself to break the silence, wishing I wouldn't be the one to do it. There's nothing wrong, and yet it feels as if there's nothing right; that's nothing will be alright. Am I meant to feel this way, or is it just me? Am I meant to feel so lonely and empty, and yet there are so many people around me, so many who love me. If I'm not meant to feel like this, what am I supposed to feel like? Will I ever feel again?
Can I ever feel happy again?
I ask these questions and yet I know the answer is that I will be happy soon, that I have to be. I have this weakness, but I have to get past it like others do. Mine’s just a little bit harder that others. Maybe, or maybe not, I’m still not quite sure. But I try to hide my imperfection, for the reason that I’m afraid of it. It’s like a confusing, vicious cycle that I cannot overcome. But I have to. Tomorrow, I’ll smile and be okay. I’ll post a happy facebook status and reply to some comments before logging off for the night and sleeping my aches and pains away, just ready for the next day.
But one thing that I realise in the end is that there was never any encouragement for me. I encouraged, but I was left empty handed. I’m expected to do it myself. And I know that, but I still can’t help but want it, maybe just once. I can’t help but think that I won’t make it one day, that I’ll just wear myself out and have no one there to help me along, because everybody thinks that I can do it alone.
I told you: It’s terribly hard to keep up appearances. So I just have to move along, and maybe tomorrow I’ll let someone in on my secret. Maybe one person or maybe more than that. All I can hope is that they understand me, just a little bit more, and that they know that I’m not so perfect after all.