The Girl Who Cried Save Me

Intro-The Girl Who Cried Save Me

Ever feel hopeless? Lonley? Upset? Well imagine all of that, and way, way more, multiplied by 100. That's my life. Literally nothing goes right. The only person who would ever even smile at me, is my cousin, Emily. But she lives far away from San Diego. All the way in Florida. So I guess you could say my happiness is in Florida, or at least what's left of it.
Anyways, back to the present. I'm currently writing in my personal lyric book. It's my safe haven, my little escape from the ugly world around me. All I do is let my heart control my hands, and time flies.
It's starting to get dark now. San Diego is usually warm and sunny, so the sun doesn't go down early. I pulled myself up from my spot under the tree and tucked my notebook in my Jansport.
Every step I took towards the house I live in, is full of dread. I hate it there, and pretty much anywhere else. Honestly, I had never done anything to anyone. I've just always been the outcast, the lonley girl. Even at home.
Speaking of which, I had just arrived at the cream colored door of my house. I hesitated before going in, but reluctantly turned the door knob.
I walked in, being greeted by the scent of apple cinnamon. I could hear the television in the living room playing, and my sisters pop music from upstairs.
Yeah I have a sister. The most popular girl in school. The lead cheerleader. The pretty, smart, perfect girl. Nobody knows we're related. She's completely ashamed of me. My parents even make me walk to school, whereas she drives herself in her expensive cherry mustang.
I silently made my way to the stairs, trying to avoid problems. But as always, I never get my way.
"Where do you think you are going?!", my mother's voice startled me. I gulped and turned around, facing her with my head down. "I'm sorry mom", I spoke quietly. I could hear her scoff.
"Sorry? I'm sorry for having you as a child! I raised you and you repay me by sneaking out!", she yelled. I bit my lip.
"Mom, I told you where I was going", I explained quietly. She slapped me straight across my face. "Are you calling me a liar? Huh?! You ungrateful child! Go upstairs right now! If I see your face again tonight it won't look like a face when I'm finished!", she threatened.
I nodded quickly and sped up the stairs, shutting myself in my room. I sat on my bed and sighed shakily. That wasn't as bad as it could've gone. But all of it still hurt.
The rejection, the yelling, the disowning, the hate, it all got to me. People say it gets easier to ignore things with time, but it doesn't. It wears you down until you're too broken to lift your head.
I layed back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like the billionth time. It probably was. I contemplated everything. How could I live like this?
Would things get better? Because they seem to be getting worse. Would I ever smile a real smile again? Those questions bubbled in my head. But the question that bothered me most was why.
Why is this all happening? Why am I hated? What did I do wrong? Why me? Tears pricked my eyes as I recalled everything. Every insult, beating, teasing. I felt it all like it happened seconds ago.
I needed a release, so stood up and walked over to the bathroom. Behind the mirror, in a small box was where my escape was sitting, besides writing.
I took out the sharp, cold piece of metal and held it in my hand. It seemed to be calling me. Taunting me. Daring me. I sat down on the sink and rolled up my sleeve, exposing hundreds of scars and fresh cuts.
My whole arm was littered in them. There was no space for any new ones. But did that stop me? Of course not. I dragged the blade across my already mutilated skin.
Little droplets of blood formed and dripped down my wrist. But I needed more, way more. So I slashed my arm over and over again. Each time going deeper.
Eventually my arm was covered in blood that dripped down onto the cold tile floor and all over the sink. I felt tired and dizzy. But alive. I felt alive.
I placed my arm under cold water and cleaned it up. Then I wrapped it in gauze and pulled my sleeve down over it. I began feeling the regret as I walked to my bed.
I had done it again. I wanted to stop hurting myself, I really did. But why couldn't I hurt myself and everyone else could? This was the only fair thing in my messed up life. The only thing I controlled.
And as much damage that it caused, I wasn't going to give it up anytime soon. I closed my eyes and shuffled underneath my warm blankets, enjoying the time I had in here, alone and safe, before I had to go back to school tomorrow.
I was tired. Emotionally. Tired of not being good enough. Tired of being the outcast. Tired of feeling worthless. Tired of being the mistake. I imagined myself free.
Free of all the pain. Of all the hate. What would it take? Would I have to die to be free? That's what everyone else says. They tell me I'd be better off dead. And it's slowly starting to sink in my mind that maybe I am.
Maybe I could finally do something right in my life. Maybe I could make everyone happy if I was gone. Maybe my parents would finally be proud of me for something.
Maybe I could be happy for once. If I wasn't meant to live this life happily, then what's the point of living it at all?
With that in mind, I closed my eyes and fell into a restless sleep as a single tear slid down my cheek.