What's Behind The Iris

Him and Her

Her life was perfect.
His was less than that.
But they had much more in common than they expected.
Their fates will be decided before the New Year arrives.

Kameron was well-known, not only in her school, but also her community. She had long locks of deep brunette hair that were naturally wavy like an ocean. Her face was round, but carved in just the right way; this was paired with glowing, naturally tan skin, dotted by a scarce amount of freckles that were placed perfectly. The smile she wore shone like rays of sun, accompanied by a single dimple on the left side. Her lanky model-like build only added to her beauty, making for a large amount of attention from boys. Her most entrancing feature was her eyes. The earth was her eyes, blue oceans, green continents, and dots of grayish-white clouds. The most important part of her eyes were not their beauty, but the story behind the beauty. This story, hidden away deep inside, was the side no one would ever see.  

Ryland was known by few. His long sandy-blonde hair covered most of his seemingly average features. His skin was red and splotchy regardless of what he tried. He was short and thin compared to most of his peers. His smile was a thing seen by no one, and his eyes were almost so dark the pupils were not distinguishable from the iris. His eyes were easy to read...sad, depressed. Most people didn't even try to avert their eyes from the scars on his wrists. They assume everything their minds can, but they don't know the entire story.

December 31st, 8:30 PM

Lying in my bed staring at the glow-in the dark stars on the ceiling is my favorite thing to do when I'm not consumed by an alternate activity. Almost every other second of my life is taken up by cheerleading, tumbling class, clubs at school, or community service. 
Most girls have a strong bond with their mom. Mine is a robot. She does nothing but demand this and that for her own good. I was not born myself, I was born to be an accessory to my mothers life. My dad doesn't give two shits about either of us. He only sends checks once a month and sometimes shows up for holidays, always with a different, much younger woman hanging onto him like a leach. Of course that gets my mom raging and I usually either sit and stare at a wall until their voices get tired of yelling or wait until the baby prostitute cries.
Only I wish that was the story. My mother is actually a wonderful person, along with my dad. They support my decisions and strive for my happiness. I have everything I need to live, a loving family, more than enough money, true friends, a loving boyfriend, and intelligence. It's almost too perfect. I have no reason to be depressed, yet I am. I often create stories like these in my head of a broken home that would cause someone to feel the way I do, only to be taken back to the reality of how "lucky" I really am.
    Depression has been creeping into my soul for years. I don't know when exactly it began or how it burrowed into my brain, but it is there. It's like a big black cloud constantly looming over me all day and night. It tells me things.
You're not good enough. He doesn't really love you. Your so called friends are just using you for their own needs. Your parents only want you to succeed to get rid of you. No one cares about your personality, they only want your body.
   The whispers never end. The few times I've mentioned it to my parents, they dismiss it as stress or typical teenage changes. I tell myself it will go away eventually, and I will be fine. I know it won't. It never will. It will loom like a storm blown by no wind. This storm makes my smiles fake, causes my tears every night, ruins the mood with my friends, makes my boyfriend insecure.
It's gone on too long.

There's a boy who floats through the crowds of people like a ghost, unseen by many. His blonde hair covers his deep, dark eyes, but I have seen into them enough to realize that I have more in common with him than others may believe. 

December 31st, 10:30 PM

I don't write sad, shitty poetry or listen to hard rock as many would gather by my long hair and dark clothes. When I go home, I spend most of my time playing with My Little Ponies with my sister or watching low budget comedies in my room. My life is not interesting to anyone. I'm betting not even a psychiatrist who is bored out of his mind. Although I probably should have an evaluation, but it wouldn't help anything.
My mom works almost all hours of the day at a minimum wage job, and when she comes home, she puts herself into an alcoholic coma. My moms buys most of that alcohol with the disability check my sister gets for having Down Syndrome. Who the hell knows who or where my dad is, but I hope he left for a worthwhile reason and is living the best life he can. My money is on the fact that he's rotting in jail. Not like I care.
Sometimes I try to think about things that normal people think of, but it always ends badly.
Friends. Who give a shit? They are all fake. Family. People you are forced to live with until you are eighteen. Money. Temporary happiness. Love. More presents on holidays and sex. People. We meaninglessly kill the only planet we have to live on when we have ways to avoid that but whatever. Life. A waste of fucking time.
So in other words, I'm a depressed piece of shit. I've always been this way and always will be. The cuts on my wrist just show that I'm too much of a pussy to kill myself. I came pretty close to dying after an overdose when I was 13. Whatever.
   At this point depression is a friend. He tells me how to make it through every day life and is real with me unlike everyone else.
There's a beautiful girl I've seen around who's smile doesn't reveal her sadness but I know depression all too well to not see it in her eyes. If a girl like her doesn't feel the need to live, this world sucks ass even more than I thought.