They all turn to look at me, I widen my eyes, trying to step out of this situation. My breathing becomes heavier, my chest rising and falling at an uneven pace. Kids screaming at me, yelling things that I try to block out. But nothing works nothing at all. I stand uselessly, being tortured by everyone else. Maybe I deserved it, maybe I didn't, but all I know is that I want to leave this hell. All I wanted was a fresh start at a new school, but clearly, I have just made my situation worse. Way worse. Maybe I need to go to another school, but for my parents to accept my idea was a dream that would never happen.
You see, being an openly gay boy in high school can be a wreck, no matter what you do, no matter how you change yourself, no one will ever like you or accept you. I figured this out in seventh grade when I came to terms with my sexuality. I didn't think that it would be any problem at all. But I was so wrong. People never stop. No matter what I do, people find out. No matter who I disguise myself as people always see right through. People aren't forgiving, and they probably never will be.
Even as I walk through the halls, stares pierce through my body, even when I stare back, the person staring stares harder. Maybe if I never told anyone that I was gay would be a blessing. But then, I would never be happy. Not that I'm happy now. But something that makes it worse is that I have a crush... and it may or may not be on the quarterback of my school's football team. Nobody knows since I've already learned that lesson. But, the quarterback is just as homophobic as the rest of this school is. He has fluffy blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Like the rest of the shitbags at my school, he stares at me. In the same disgustful way that everyone does already. But I can't help but blush whenever he talks in class, or whenever he stares at me.
So what do I do about this situation, nothing, absolutely nothing? Yes, I'm going to be a loner for the rest of my school career, but I couldn't care less. I was already a senior, and as a senior, I no longer care for school. Not one bit. I also can't help but fall for this boy's amazing and stunning style. He comes to school typically in baggy khaki cargo pants, with a flannel and graphic t-shirt underneath. I mean, who wouldn't fall for him? Well, I fell for him, and I'd fall for him. But, he's a player. A player that doesn't give two fucks about the girls he dates. It's a fuck n run. So, there is no way in hell he would ever like me, that, and he's straight. But I can try, right? *Cough *cough, uh no-
I walk to class trying to get to my seat without being tripped by other students, and somehow I managed. I get to my seat and got out the required textbook for history. The class passes by fast, and before I know the bell rings. I get up, walk out, of course, followed by stares. Maybe this was my fate, silently dying in self-pity, and being bullied for the rest of my sad life.
This has been a long day, as usual, filled with people screaming at me, calling me slurs, kicking me, punching me, and staring at me. Don't you just love it? I hate myself more than I hate the kids that hate me. People only stare at me or judge me because I'm different from them. This is what my brain skis to as I walk home, the only question being why does it have to be that I'm different? And one statement, one commitment in my head, how I'm going to do it again, and again, and again. One, two, three, four, seven, ten, twenty. I snap out of it when I stop at my house's front door, unlock it with my key, and walk inside. I'm home alone, like usual, since both my parents have busy jobs.
I walk up the steps and to my room, putting my backpack down and lying on my bed, tears threatening to fall. But I just stay still, letting the tears fall. I suffer every day, for nothing. They never see the damage that they do to me, cursing me forever, breaking me, until I can't take it anymore. I go to my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, I see someone that I don't recognize. Bags lay under my eyes, my arms are covered with sleeves. But when I roll them up, they are littered with scars, some red and fresh, others faded and a mere white line. My face looks old like it's ready to be put to rest. Tired, I look tired. My self-esteem does not go up as I look at my appearance. I go back to my bed, go to my nightstand and get out a familiar box, in there, lay multiple blades. I take one out and roll up the sleeve of my sweater.
I put it back in the box, crying from my mental break, not from physical pain. I was used to it at this point. I hear my front door open, my mom yelling my name, so I go downstairs, a blank expression on my face.
"Hey, mom," my voice croaks.
"Aw, sweetie, your throat sounds soar, are you sick?" she questions immediately.
"No, I just talked a lot today that's all, but thanks for being concerned," I assure
"No problem dear, now I'll cook up some dinner alright? Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, I'll have dinner," I say with a fake smile
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I go back up to my room, my fake smile faltering, a blank and painful expression replacing it. I lay on my bed, bringing my knees up to my chest. I cry silently, ignoring the pain it brought to my throat. All I wanted to do is live a normal life, with friends and a family that would accept me no matter what. But no, I can't have that, all because I'm gay. I hear my mom calling my name, probably since dinner is ready, so I head downstairs. I wipe the tears off my face, taking a quick deep breath.
"I just made some pasta and your father will be home in a few minutes," she says in a rushed tone.
"Alright, thanks mom," I say, hugging her
"Of course sweetie, now you can go put your pasta in a bowl, I'm going to the restroom"
"Okay"
I walk to the stove, take a pasta spoon and put some in a white bowl, grabbing a fork and sitting down at the table. I sigh, knowing that I can't finish it. I bring the fork to my mouth, hesitating for a long moment before putting the warm pasta in my mouth. I hear the front door open, so I turn my head to see my father at the door, wiping off his coat.
"Hi Dad," I greet
"Hey George, how was school?"
"It was fine, dinner is ready by the way"
"Alright," he states in response
I tried to eat a few bites of the pasta, as much as my stomach wanted me to eat, my mind was saying no. I stand up and bring my bowl to the sink, dumping the remaining pasta down the drain. I tell my dad that I'm going to bed and walk back up to my room. I go to my bathroom and kneel by the toilet. I shove two fingers down my throat to trigger my gag reflex and throw up. My throat feels hoarse and gross, so I drink some water. I know it was bad, but eating was the only thing I could control in my life. I don't know why I don't eat. I just feel that when I do, my body explodes and I feel disgusting and fat. I go to my bed and lay down, trying to go to bed, which somehow works and I fall asleep. My world is now becoming an empty black void.
YOU ARE READING
My Breaking Point (dnf)
General FictionDISCONTINUED George is an openly gay guy at his school but people were everything from forgiving. He is bullied, harassed, and most of all, depressed. He struggles with self-harm and an eating disorder. He had no friends. But what happens when a par...
