l am tall for being a girl at my age. Around 5'7. My skin is a pasty yellow mixed with pink. My hair is shoulder length with choppy bangs that laid across my forehead. My eyes are blue and gray like storm clouds. I'm from Evansville Washington. A big town yet people knew people. Set for me. I was new. Now, this wasn't the first time I have been new to a place like this. But it didn't strike me how hard it would be.
Typical teen. Typical girl right? Maybe I wasn't as it seemed. Sometimes I wonder why people give me unusual looks like I'm a different species. I could feel the eyes darting at my back. My shoulders were broad. were they scared of me? My neck was tense. I couldn't understand what people wanted from me. Typical wasn't something people would consider me in this town. I was awkward, weird, and laughed at things that weren't even that funny. I stumbled over my own feet and choked on my words. what did I expect? and I mean I couldn't help it. the overwhelming feeling that was built up in my stomach that made me such an awkward unbearing person. I noticed everything and everyone and it wasn't a good thing.
My mental health wasn't the best back in Montana either. Nor was it for texas. My legs still had faint scars. My arms not so much. Some in patterns, some less visible. We all had our problems, our guilties, our hurts. Our mistakes or imperfections. Some chose to keep them inside as others made sure everyone knew. - we are framed to be weaker and less able. We are called pussy's for our actions and addictions. I had an overall good feeling about this town, an escape from past drama. But I shouldn't be so sure. It rained a lot more here. It was different. That wasn't what I feared though. Or maybe that was all I feared. Different. Was I even ready?
I feel as if the world puts me in my own little bubble and I'm really just a ghost flying around and listening to people laugh and talk. Like no one sees me. Not a single soul. As if the world is silencing me. I'm muted. I'm paused. Now I could stop wondering where I stand. My feet on the cracked road. The pavement scorches my skin and leaves small red welts. Now I wonder what I'm doing with it all. Giving my life out to people I don't know. People who dictate my every move. My every step.
I wonder what is going through everyone else's minds. Whether they sob every day under the nicely made bed sheets. Whether they share laughs with their families or share shouts. We put ourselves in situations where we won't know what's coming. We are hostage to our own minds. These thoughts creep in and out each ear. Nightmares waiting to fill the empty rooms around us.
The misty gaze of the light beaming down on our heads. Giving us a site. But yet we do everything but see. We are blinded by this barrier our peers put up for us. Blinded by society to see what's really going on. I slid my feet across the rocks as if I couldn't feel a thing and maybe I couldn't. Maybe we were also tricking our minds into thinking things hurt to a point where we feel the sensations of pain.
"Pain" is an uneasy feeling that brings tears to our eyes. Who made the word and why does it mean such a thing? I wasn't afraid? I wasn't afraid of being hurt, I wasn't afraid of being used and tormented. I was afraid of what I was becoming. I was afraid that the person killing me would be myself. and as crazy weird, as that sounds I knew that I wasn't okay but I didn't know how to show other people. Because if they couldn't see the signs that were right in front of them the whole time I didn't want to portray them as someone who was seeking attention rather than seeking help.It hurts but I won't fight it. I'm not afraid of what people do but rather what they think.
now standing in the middle of the empty road I cross my legs and sit down. I shove my head into my knees. my world was closing. i was suffocating. theses imaginary walls that surrounded me slowly have been caving in. each second was another to my last. these thoughts wouldn't leave. I could hear the banging of the cabinets and dishes that night. I could see his drunk smile. i could feel her blood on my shirt and hands. I could faintly hear my brother's cries.
