Dear Counselor: My Story.

Letter Six

Alexis Poniewierski

4/13/2016

9:39 PM

I feel dead. I am currently so sad that I feel like I'm suffocating. I don't want to kill myself- I think suicide is selfish because I always know pain is temporary even though for me it seems as if it isn't, but the impact a person has on their family when they rid their temporary pain inflicts a forever pain on those who love them.

I write these letters too much. But I guess I have to write my feelings down despite an outburst like breakdown or a mental one, or one of those ones that are quite but it's near impossible to smile.

I am currently working on my online schooling application, or at least I'm going to be tomorrow morning as soon as I get up. Man, life sucks.

It's 9:43 PM and I am crying now. I don't know why though, why me? I think I'm giving up.

Not on life. But holding the tears back.

It's too hard for me, to keep them held in. But when I start crying it's near impossible to stop. I can't go back to public schooling.

It's 9:49 PM now. I keep pausing because I keep shaking. I keep rereading the things I am typing and realize how bad I'm honestly hurting. I just want to be held, and told it'll be okay. But honestly, will it be okay? Will it be alright? For the first time in the past five years, will it be okay?

Ever since I moved I made two amazing friends. Jenna and Raeann. I don't talk to them both often because I'm constantly sad, but am always putting on a smart-ass demeanor that makes them believe I'm happy. I wonder if anyone can tell how hurt I am, in my eyes.

They know how I feel outside of school, when I'm not around them in person. But Jenna saw me in my most weakest points in my first hour last Monday.

I had spent all first hour, or at least the beginning, with my head in my hands. My hair was down, I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a grey zip-up jacket. But there I was. My face scrunched up and I was silently sobbing. I was crying and the tears wouldn't stop coming.

I don't know if it hurt her or not to see me cry. But if it did, Jenna I am so sorry. That I had to show my weakness in front of you and that you, as one of my best friends had to see it.

Everyone is commenting on how much I'm smoking lately. The nicotine helps quite a bit, and I know it's bad for a sixteen year old to be smoking. I started at fourteen. A lot I couldn't handle at the time, and it was around the time my parents divorced. I was offered a hit, and instead of taking one I coughed it out and finished the cigarette.

Ever since I was hooked. I'd steal cigarettes from my Mom when she'd fall asleep. I'd smoke them and put them out in a small pineapple juice jar that I hid underneath my bed.

To this day I still smoke. It's a bad habit, I know. But just as depression won't quit on me, I can't quit tasting the tar and nicotine on my tongue. It's the only source of relief I have. Although short-lived, those cancer sticks are there for me than most people. Maybe if I wasn't depressed I could quit, just cold turkey it and drop it. But no matter how many times I've tried to quit before, I went back to them.

I went to juvy for twelve days and obviously had no access to cigarettes. But although ecstatic I had gotten out of there, I was still sad. I picked up a cigarette again, and although it tasted disgusting, I kept smoking until I was one hundred percent hooked again.

This is probably my longest letter so far- and I apologize that you have to sit here and read them, Dear Counselor- but I figured you'd want to hear how I'm doing. So here it is, letter number six and I still feel alone. I feel homesick, but who knows where my home is?

I went to the park yesterday, and got my shoes dirting kicking at the dirt and my hands were a light color of brown after I sat there for a good twenty minutes picking up rocks and throwing them somewhere. Not to harm anyone that could have been possibly walking in front of me, but because it was the one thing keeping my occupied.

You see, I do stupid things to keep me occupied but in reality nothing keeps my mind off of the genuine feeling of pain that runs through my body like a current of electricity while my heart beats like a shot of thunder. My eyes burn, and my heart aches. My body is weak, or at least it feels that way.

Many times I've wanted to scream into a pillow. It's hard, though.

I talked to my Grandma about my anxiety today while we were gardening. She seems to know what I feel deep inside, but she's dealt with it for such a long time she can control it. However, me? I cannot. Which is unfortunate.

I don't like being surrounded by people. When the counselors had me walked down to the office by a ton of people, I was scared. Not of what was going to happen, but of them. Although I had talked to them all at once, I cannot associate with big crowds. They asked me so many questions on Monday, and I felt like I was being questioned for killing someone or something.

I felt embarrassed. I felt sick to my stomach. My legs were shaking, I was shaking. I got yelled at for having my phone out, and they kept me in the school clinic for a little while. I didn't want to stare at the cabinets on the wall or the pillow that was oh-so lonely. I wasn't allowed to listen to music or talk to my Mom. No, I got YELLED at for it while I'm already sitting there SHAKING and my eyes and the areas around them were stained red because it hurt so bad. Yet that stupid lady in the office clearly didn't know how to give a sixteen year old who is MENTALLY BREAKING a break.

But I forgot. I was a distraction and a disturbance to staff, and students.