At age 7, she was abused
At age 9, her parents died
At age 10, she was sent to a private school
At age 11, she had no friends
At age 13, she’s bullied
At age 14, she self-harms
At age 15, she attempts suicide and fails
“Hey Mona Coma!” That’s what everyone called me. Everyone at my stupid private school knew me as the depressed, suicidal freak. They’re not wrong. I am depressed and suicidal. I also have anxiety and I self-harm. Not the best person to hang out with.
My parents died when I was nine, but I never cared about their death. I went to their funeral but I didn’t cry. They got in a car crash and I was in a coma for 4 months (hence the name ‘Mona Coma‘). I would’ve rather died than them because I hated my life; still do even. They abused me. It was terrible. I would have bruises and bloody noses, but I had no one to cry to or to see.
This private school is pretty cool. Maybe if I had friends or people noticed me, it would be nice. I’m pretty much at the bottom of the food chain and it sucks. Everyone at this school is rich and pretty; I have long, straight brown hair, brown eyes, and my clothes are bought by my therapists and doctors. The clothes they get me are nice, but I don’t like being cried about. I’d rather be dead.
Last year, when I was fifteen, I attempted suicide. I don’t know what happened because everything was set up correctly. My letter was on my pillow in my room at my school, and a video was ready; you just had to press play. The rope was hanging in the closet in case the pills didn’t work. Turns out, that day, the bullying was so bad, I skipped right to the rope.
As I stepped off the stool, it was hard to breathe, but it felt nice. I could see light, as cliché as it might sound, and everything felt better. But before it could finally let go, the rope broke and I was lying on the floor with a rope around my neck. I looked up and saw that the rope looked like it was cut enough to break with a bit of pressure. I was so pissed. I just wanted to finally be free and dead.
I skipped a lot of school after that. I was stuck at a hospital for teens ‘like me’ which meant ‘Mentally disturbed’. I wasn’t allowed to shave in case I might’ve cut myself and let me tell you, I wasn’t the only one there in this state. There was lot of hairy legs and armpits.
When I was there, I read a lot. Kids books, teens, sci-fi, fantasy/fiction, but realistic-fiction was and is my favorite. John Green to be specific. His books are just so exciting and inspiring, like he understands what teens all over are going through. It’s pure genius. I dream of being a writer someday. To be an inspiration.
At this ‘special’ hospital, we did ‘special’ activities most kids wouldn’t do at school. We made a lot of projects that were supposed to get us back to our normal selves. Sadly, I didn’t know what my normal self was.
