Underestimated Inner Conflict

I have written this piece in order to demonstrate that Inner conflict is often underestimated and the wars that are within some individuals can be much worse than physical or external conflict between people. We Interact with people on a daily basis that may seem in good shape on the outside but are dealing with an Immense hostility within them.

This concept Is portrayed In The Quiet American where Fowler Is deliberating privately whether or not to give the go ahead for Pyle essentially to be assassinated.

The conflict between Fowler and Pyle seems contained but the contemplation Inside Fowlers head Is far more serious. The book “My sisters keeper” by Jodie Piccolo was another motive for this piece as It highlights the discord between a family whiffs second daughter refuses to continue donating parts of her body In order to save the eldest daughter whom Is dying of cancer.

The emotional and psychological conflict experienced by everyone in the book highlights that behind a strong demeanor there are often immense interpersonal battles being fought.

Hoping to bring to readers attention that everyone is dealing with some sort of dissension that we probably don’t know about and thus should always consider how our actions could cause others to feel and react; realizing that one hurtful deed could be the tip of the iceberg for some; leading to things far greater than we could’ve imagined.

Lying against the same old damp pillow, my cheeks tight and salty from the desolate tears that form part of my nightly routine.

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My head hurts and I can feel the rings under my eyes grow darker as the hours of the night tick away. I like this time of evening, not having to smile and pretend that everything is okay, meaningless conversation with people who pretend to be interested in what you have to say.

The cool air that runs underneath the window brushes against my skin and the wounds along my arms and legs sting a little, this familiar feeling has a comforting edge to it. This is one thing I can actually control,” I think to myself. I know what I’m doing Is wrong, mother made me read that book about the girl who drinks herself Into a momma every night in order to forget about her abusive father, “aren’t you glad we are a normal family’ she used to say when discussing the book with me; “If only you knew” I thought to myself.

I hear Alice rolling around In her bed, she always seems so fulfilled with things, helping mum around the house, chatting to her friends, singing In the shower, how does she do It?

Always has the boys at school looking at her, not a negative bone In her body. Maybe that’s how It works though, all the good genes modeled Into one child and a polar opposite created In the second. Perhaps If I were a little more Like Alice; he wouldn’t see the need to try and get rid of me. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my Jaw. ” Staring at the family photo hung above the fireplace, these words of Sylvia Plate reminisce through my thoughts. Is this a common thing?

Fathers finding the need to batter their daughters in order to live a balanced life, I don’t blame him though, even I find the practice of harming myself to be an essential, it’s Just the way it is. As long s Alice and Mum are kept from it, I’d rather it be me than one of them, for this reason the nights he rages his anger and frustration upon me I seek comfort in the fact that they’re being spared of it. His drunken breath leaves a sense of discomposure in the air, one I wish I could simply blow away or lighten with some incense; his facial discontent when looking into my eyes is something I will always remember.

Those are they eyes that follow me around, always watching, Judging my every move. Suppressing thoughts of better days I try to remind myself that this is who I am, Hess qualities are what define me, I’m Just a nobody that needs to get through this mundane life. Could it be better though? Seeing the girls in magazines and in movies, life looks like it could be different. My eyes are heavy and I start to think about all the unfinished deadlines creeping upon me, it all seems too much. Sometimes I wonder if anyone would even miss me if I were to Just disappear, in fact I think some might even find pleasure in not having me here anymore.

The only reason dad would miss me is because he wouldn’t have a punching bag to carry out his weekly frustrations, Alice probably wouldn’t even notice and Mom, well sometimes I think she cares slightly but even so she might be relieved that there is one less person to worry about. I see it as being a favor to them, if I were to silently depart, even more so a favor to myself, my pitiful body shouldn’t have to endure this any longer. It would be so easy I think, being able to finally be at rest. No longer having to deal with the voices inside my head, the battles within my conscience, if that were at rest, it would be bliss.

The torment of the lashes and physical struggles of the world would vanish and I could be untied from all this at last. I can almost feel a smile draw itself across my face as the thought of serenity settles in this imaginary world I sometimes manage to create. Just like that I am back to reality, hearing Alice get up to go to the bathroom brings me back to the present. How foolish of me to think that I could escape this for more than a minute, these inner ‘representatives’ wont let me go, or is it me that is afraid of detaching myself from them?