Aleks has a story... like me, the reason he has scars beneath his sleeves, and emptiness behind his eyes. He has reasons, just like me. His dad died in the army when he was 6, his mum turned to drinking and drugs, they had no money... there were men coming in and out of the house all the time, he never understood why, he was only 8. One night, he heard screaming coming from his mums room... she had been stabbed. She went through 3 years of rehabilitation, over that time he had to look after her. His grades dropped, the bullying increased because he came to school with circles under his eyes, he lost friends one by one. Until, one day...he had no more left. He was exposed to hate. One day he saw a girls arms at school, she had slits on her wrists... he tried it. One slit of his arms, and he realised how it took the pain away, how it released the anguish inside of him. He was an artist, his skin was his canvas. We understand each other, and our pain. We don't judge our scars or ridicule how we look. We are friends.
He noticed when i wore long sleeves and pants. He cared.
A new boy arrived at our school, his name is Joel Hartley, he is Taneil's friends and he knew they made a fake account of him. He helped them. They laugh at me, for how stupid i was to believe the lies that came through the texts. They mock me.
I've always wondered what the worst way to die would be, the most painful and dreadful death possible. I have finally found the answer, this. This is the worst way to die; wanting your life to end everyday, reaching out to to death but never being able to reach. Feeling this numb pain every single day, not having anyone who understands. The voices in your head just telling you to slit your wrists, telling you to die because you aren't worth the space that you take up! When you know you're dying but you just can't make it go any faster, when the people around you are purposely killing you, making it slow and painful...making you suffer.
I have a whole life planned in front of me, I want to be a dancer and then get married and adopt 2 children. I want to give my kids advice, get them ready for their first day of school and knit my grandchildren silly sweaters. But the thing is... will i make it to then? Will i make it out of my own childhood?
YOU ARE READING
Bullied
Non-FictionTreated like you are worth nothing more than a grain of dirt on the sidewalk. Your heart tossed around and battered until the puncture wounds are too much to bare. Captured and trapped by the whispering words of hatred echoing in your head.
