Short Story - This Is Me

The girl who seemed unbreakable, broke. 
The girl who seemed strong, crumbled. 
The girl who always smiled, cried. 
The girl who never gave up, quit trying. 
Finally she dropped her fake smile and whispered,
"I can't do this anymore."

****
Do you know what it feels like to lie in your bed and just cry? Because you think you're ugly. Because you're not good enough for anyone. You've counted all your flaws from head to toe, making yourself feel worse. Cried because the comments people blurt out actually hurt? Cried because your family is dysfunctional and never understands you. They tell you to stop complaining, because you've got it better than the kids in Africa. You don't want to feel like an attention seeker so you bottle it all up inside. Around friends and family, you've created this lying smile and they believe it. But at nighttime, when you're alone in your bed, the girl who everyone thought was so happy, is crying her broken heart out. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE??? HOW IT FEELS????

***
The pain was overwhelming, it was so much more than sadness now. It was all consuming. It was the pain when I smiled, the pain when I told everyone I was okay, when I really wasn't. The pain I let out all over my pillow. 4am knows all my secrets.

No-one knows this side of me, the side of pain, emptiness and suicidal thoughts. The side where depression festers. No-one knows the real me. How I've cried in my room when nobody was watching. How many times I've lost hope. How many times I've been let down. How many times I felt like I was about to snap, but didn't for the sake of others. Nobody knows the thoughts that go through my head when I'm sad, how horrible they truly are. NOBODY KNOWS ME! And I know if I tell anyone, I will be opening myself up to be destroyed, because everyone who I've ever trusted has betrayed me. Ripping me apart, every time.

1

It started when I was 7, harmless teasing, that I didn't really care about. Then it turned into a jab here and there. Then cold heartless words, said to me with malice. Which lead to the next stage, crying myself to sleep daily, and depression that took over my emotions. I was in deep at the age of 12, hating life, wanting to die, hoping that I could end it all.

****

"You're worthless." 
"No one likes you."
"You're an inconvenience to everyone around you."
These were a sample of things said to me daily at 12. These hateful comments breaking me down, barb by barb. But those weren't the worst.

The worst was the one that led me to cut. "Go kill yourself." 
To anyone else it could have been a joke. But to me, someone who already thought so badly about themselves, and seriously contemplated killing themself, it made me self harm.

It was a temporary escape from a daily problem. The feeling of the blood drip out of my arm, the way it seemed to free my demons, if only for a minute. The blade as cold and as dead as I was becoming. It was an experience that I craved.

It didn't help that I started to wear my jumper through hot temperatures and always covered my arms. That led to comments about cutting, making the occurrence of the cuts happen more frequently, therefore making the words worse.

Going over it I regret so much, but others I wish I could get back. Maybe, just maybe it wouldn't have led to what happened. But that's for later now, let me take you through a day in my life.

Though sad this story is mine. This was my life, once upon a time. A story of hate and heartbreak. A story of depression and destruction. A story about a twelve year old, all alone in this world.

This is my story

2

13 June 2013

8:30

I arrive to school on Monday, dreading to hear the comments and be hurt even more. But I am also glad to be back, because at home, I'm surrounded by my thoughts. And let me tell you my thoughts aren't happy or nice.

I am given my normal greetings as I enter the class, "oh look, the little emo is back, you didn't cut yourself enough to die. What a shame."

I quickly school my features, so they can't see how much it hurts, or how much I just want to go somewhere and feel the blood run from my arms.

9:00

I should probably tell you that it isn't only the students in the class that attack me, the teacher does too. And the way she does it is worse. She criticises me in everything, ripping me apart. I try not to be the best in class, because it means that the students will attack me even more, not liking that the 'little emo bitch' is smarter than them. I know that I'm smart, really smart. I was told that I could skip a few years if I wanted to. That was last year, before I learnt to hide my intelligence. I knew I couldn't be the smartest, so I calmly rested around the middle of the scale. But that led the teacher to attack me. Every. Little. Mistake. She yelled at me. Calling me stupid, dumb and making the class say things like this too. Though the student's were more vicious.

If I talked even at a little whisper, while the other students were yelling, she'd tell me to be quiet. That she didn't want to hear my voice, even if it was just a peep. I learnt to be quiet, to fade into the walls.

10:40

Break. It was only 20 minutes long, but that was enough. I had two people that I called friends. Though they treated me bad, and ditched me. They didn't make fun of me. But they made me feel even worse. Even worse than all the hateful barbs thrown at me, because it was worse than the enemy that slapped you in the face. They were the friends that stabbed you in the back. What made it even worse, was that though they did this, they probably cared for me more than anyone else in my life. And I cared for them too. I knew that caring for people only opened yourself up to be hurt. But I didn't care, I wanted to have the feeling of being safe and cared for. If only for just a second. And a second was all I got.

The year after, I stopped playing with them. Because they were getting ridiculed too. Even if they didn't like me that much. I stopped hanging with them because I would rather go through this alone, than drag others along with me. But that is later, this is about now. Back to my day.

11:00

English. My favorite subjects and my escape. I escaped in the pages of someone else's life, putting all my thoughts and fears down on paper, cleansing my head from my demons, even if just for a short time. I let my mind and pencil take over, looping letters into words and words into sentences. In Writing I was free to be me. And in Reading I lived in someone else's world, away from my demons, and for a few hours, I'm happy.

The only thing that ruins it is if we have lessons and I'm forced to deal with the teacher again and after she tore me down at maths this morning I don't think I can deal with her again. 

I am filled with elation when my group got to free read and write. I wasn't forced to face the teacher. And I was free, away from the judging eyes and hateful comments.

12:30

I was in my own little world. Until I was brought back to reality by the  ring of the bell, signaling the start of lunch and 15 minutes of sitting alone, while eating. Sitting far away from everyone, and seeing them look at me with disgust, the looks hit me to the bone.

12:45

Just because I finished eating didn't mean it got better. I now had 45 minutes walking around, acting as if I'm playing a game so I don't get pity looks from teachers. That means I have 45 minutes stuck in my head, self-loathing, bringing up all the comments people paid to me. 
It was then that I remembered one of the other teachers said to me, "I want you to be happy." And then I had a depression filled thought. Happy? You want me to be happy? Put a gun to my head and pull the damn trigger. God, I've become so bad in these passing months. Every thought, sad, every story, depressing, every word, broken. I am worthless. I am told this every day, and I readily agree with this. But I know that of I had a penny for every time someone made me feel worthless, told me that I was worthless. I would be worth something by now.

1:30

We didn't do anything worth telling you about after lunch. It was the same old comments, the same people, and the same  amount of hate.

So let me take you to after school, where you find out the other side of my life.

3:00

I come home to find the front door locked, which truthfully isn't unusual. I jump over the fence and run down the side of the house to check the back door, when I saw that the bathroom window was open. I slip through the small gap. Except when I land I realised I wasn't in there alone.

"Dad?" I questioned. Too late I realised he was drunk and in those few seconds it took me to realize this, he was behind me and smashed my head into the basin, calling me hurtful names. 
For example. "Slut." 
"You good for nothing, bitch." 
"You're nothing but an inconvenience." 
"I wish your mother fell down the stairs when she was pregnant with you. Then I wouldn't have to see you everyday," etc.

Then he left and I was collapsed onto the floor with a gash that ran across my forehead, making blood run into my eyes. After I bandaged my face, I strolled out of the bathroom, and saw my dad passed out in the hallway. Good I was fine, for now. Well that was until She got home.

That's when I hear the front door unlock and the, "I'm home." That was said every time she entered the room, so everyone would know she was there and act as expected, by getting her everything she wants.

Oh and if you haven't already guessed who she is, yeah that's my mother. I try to avoid her seeing me as she will go off at me, and her beatings are worse than my father's. As he just hits me with a hand or foot, rather than a lamp, a pan, a knife, a gun. Though the gun was only once.

Unfortunately I had to walk past the living room to get away and she saw me as I slipped past the doorway.
"You!" She accused, "you aren't allowed in the house, unless I let you in. You expect to come in here and have us bending over backwards for you. Well you thought wrong."
With that she picks up the steel bat and hits me, in the ribs, in the face, reopening the earlier gash, and repeatedly smashing my legs and hands. I could hardly move after she was finished. After all that, all she said was, "clean up this mess you've left all over the floor. Once you've done that I don't want to see you until dinner at 6."

4:00

Finally, I had finished cleaning up my blood from the floor. It didn't help that I felt like I was about to pass out at any second.

I quickly slip out of the room and into the bathroom, to the bath and the knife I keep next to it. Now to be free.
I took the blade to my wrist and cut neat lines from left to right, one under the other. Running the cuts up my arm. I fell the blood drip out of me. And the cool of the knife against my skin helped me escape my demons. I cut to let the bad blood and hate that festers inside me throughout the day, run to the bottom of the bath. To me this is therapeutic.

6:00

Dinner, filled with hateful glares and disgusted looks. While I tried to fade into the background, sinking into my seat and keeping my head down.

I counted 30 minutes down, until I was able to break down in my room and prepare myself, to live through this horror of my life again tomorrow.

20 minutes left.
10 minutes.
5 minutes.
1 minute.
3.
2.
1.

I quickly clear up my plate and dash off to my escape, my room. To be alone. Alone has always felt like a place to me, rather than a state of being, but more like somewhere to escape to, and be who I really am.

3

I remember that day like it was yesterday.

8 October 2013. The day I nearly died.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I know this now. But when everything is going bad and nothing looks good. You don't believe in a future for yourself, you just believe that the only road is this.

This is the day I will forever regret the most. The day I nearly committed suicide.

I will start it from the main part.
Let's set the scene it is 3:30 and I have just arrived home from school. Let's begin.

3:30

When I come home from school, I lie on my desk feeling the familiar ache of being hopeless, worthless. I know it's time to go, for real this time. I'm tired, I'm just so very tired, my parents hit me, as if school wasn't bad enough today. I go to get the rope, or the knife, or the gun or whatever I choose to use. Because I'm that desperate to leave, I'm ready, I think of it as some game, the first one dead is the first one to win. 
No one's home, it's the perfect time; I'm ready. If I don't do it now I'm just going to look down on myself even more. I'm gonna hate myself even more. No one knows, no one will know, until later. Instead of getting paper and a pen, I get the video camera along with a chair; I stand on the chair and record my final message.

At this moment, I don't think about my family, or friends, or anyone for that matter. I think about life without me there. About how no one would even care. How I would drop out of this world without even a ripple.

I secure the rope around my neck, and take one foot off the chair, then pause. I don't know if I can do this. An internal struggle fights inside of me. I have absolutely nothing to live for. But I can't seem to do it.

And for the first time ever I start seeing a future for myself. I see myself breaking out of the clutches of depression. Of going to high school. About falling in love and living. And at that moment I know that I couldn't do it. I untied the rope from my neck, and stepped of the chair. I took a picture of the empty rope hanging from the ceiling. And saved it with the caption, I lived, I survived, I overcame.

That picture and my final message are kept close to my heart daily. They were soon joined by other bits and pieces. Some quotes that ran through my head for the duration of my struggle. The things that helped me live and get through it also on there. It will always be with me, and I will never let it go.

It will forever be the reminder that I was the girl who fought, I was the girl who lived.

4

That was my life. Though sad, every word true, every thought real. This is really me.

Be happy with what you have and who you are. Because not everyone is. Others are like me. So broken, so alone that they don't believe in hope anymore.

Live. Because unlike some, you will really live. Not in a tortured world, where living is hell.

Appreciate every day for what it is. Another chance at life, at love, at hope.

I know I do, because I lost myself, I lost who I was. I lost the happy little girl I once was. Though I am better, I will never be the same as I was before. I am cold, dead inside and full of pain and regret. I am thoroughly broken, but you're not, enjoy it. Live it. Don't take life for granted. Because I nearly ended mine, and I will never make that mistake again.