The Secrets You Keep

One..

"Life seems to pass by too slow," I began. "For some people too slow or too fast. You could be a
somebody, a person that it seems everyone else wants to be or be with, or you could be a
nobody, a person nobody wants to be caught dead near. That person, the nobody, is me. I am the girl in the corner of the room, the one you
never notice. I'm the one that never speaks up even though she knows all the answers. I am the
one that is ignored, but yet I still show my face. I still wake up everyday, I still bother breathing, I
still keep my heart beating. I still believe that I can hold on even though i'm slipping away from
the only hope I have left. I have completely accepted the fact that nobody cares and nobody
ever will."
I was writing all this in my four page, AP English paper about myself that counted for 45% of my final average. I thought about lying and saying my life was wonderful, coming up with some imaginary happiness that in reality I will only feel when I read it in a book. It was difficult being honest about myself to someone I only shrugged my shoulders to when being involuntarily called upon in my hour long class that happened to be the last hour of my school day. The final hour before I could escape to the empty quietness of my cold apartment, that happened to make me feel like I was living by myself. My mother worked two jobs and was only home for about an hour at around 3 o'clock in the morning, so on the very rare occasion that she had a day off, she spent it her small room sleeping. Normally I was in school or in my bedroom doing homework, or writing or reading, all results of not having any social life. I have a
cell phone, but the only contact I have in it is my mothers. I really do feel like a Class A loser.
Today, Saturday, was one of the days that my mother was home, and I didn't have any school, so when I finally dragged myself out of bed I put the tea kettle on and brought a cup of tea and an ice pack to her dark room. I quickly grabbed the Tylenol off the counter as I passed through the dining room. When I walked in I very quietly put the cup of tea on her night stand. I lightly bumped her shoulder to alert her that I had brought it to her. As she groaned and sat up in her bed she cast a lazy smile in my direction.
"Thanks honey, I don't know if I would make it without you." she said picking up her tea looking wide eyed at the ice pack and Tylenol in my hands. I hand her the bottle of Tylenol and watched her take two pills and manage to throw them both down as she gulped down her tea. I then gently placed the ice pack on her head, as she sank into the bed covers. I nodded to her sending her a kind look.
I hadn't spoken to her or anyone else for that matter since I got out of the mental hospital after trying to off myself for the third time, in July of last year. it was November here in Grenada, California with a population of 367 most of the population was made up of teens that went to a high school almost a half hour away. It's called Weed High, home of the screaming Panthers. I personally think that's the strangest name for a high school ever, but that's just me.
"Aren't you ever gonna speak to anyone ever again?" She asked pulling out a cigarette. I shrugged and walked over to the window. I pulled back the curtains and opened the blinds letting the sun in. Despite the fact I got shoved out into the blazing heat even in the middle of November, the sun felt amazing against my skin. It was the only sense of peace or happiness I ever received.
"Ah jeez, a little warning next time please." She groaned as she pulled the blanket down, revealing her blue polka dot spaghetti strap tank­top she wore to bed last night. I just sighed and walked into the bathroom.
I looked in the mirror gazing at my pale skin that stretched over my strangely perfectly structured face. My light­brown curls pool down my back and framed my face. My gray blue eyes the only thing that stood out in my facial features, to me anyway. I went back into my
bedroom and sat down at my desk. This paper isn't due for another two weeks but still i keep on
writing.
"The only friend I have ever really had died when we were ten in a car accident. Yet another reason I cry myself to sleep every night. Every morning when I wake up and look in the
mirror the lines under my eyes have gone a deeper shade of purple. I even think I'm starting to
get stress lines around my eyes. My mother gets even more afraid when she gets a call from my
therapist about the endless pale lines going down my legs that eventually grow fainter but still
end up being replaced by red ones that bleed and burn in the beginning and just before they
turn pale they start itching like crazy. Still I keep on adding on to the lines. It's quite funny
actually, how nobody seems to notice or ask why I don't ever wear shorts or skirts, not only
because of the scars that creep down my legs, but because of the unusual paleness of my skin.
My complexion only seems to bring out the darkness surrounding my eyes, and it makes all my wounds that much lighter. I have never actually shown my mother my scars, for the fear of making her angry or even depressed is too great."
I set my pen down and turned to my bed as the tears started welling threatening to spill over, and onto the pages of my notebook. I slowly dragged myself out of my small chair and stepped over to my bed, collapsing into painful sobs as soon as I reached the edge. As I curled into a ball, I dragged my silky sheets over my head and buried my face into the pillow. This happened on a daily basis. Sometimes I swore I had a hole in my chest where my heart belonged, that slowly grew bigger everyday.
When the shaking and tears stopped coming I just stayed there wrapped in sheets. I heard a soft knock at the door and my mom walked in. I wiped my cheeks and sat up, looking at my bed, once again soaked through with tears.
"Oh honey i'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do..." She looked around my room as she said this. Her eyes stopped at my filing cabinet in the corner. My bedroom was not only the largest room in the house it was the emptiest and cleanest. All there is, is my desk and filing cabinet up against the back wall, and my bed straight across the room. My dresser happened to be quite small and placed in my small closet that was also full of my old posters, and photo albums full of memories that I didn't want to remember. On top of my dresser was my small 5­-disc stereo system and my three, fifty­disc CD cases, that I put away last February when even music seemed pointless in my life. Music used to be my passion, but that was before I rejected life.
"Is it ok if I look in your safe?" She said, walking over to it only to find it locked. I had locked it the last time she tried to look through it and not touched it since. I shook my head at her, never taking my eyes away from her hand.
"I need to get into it unlock it this instant!" She half­ yelled at me. I just shook my head at her and pointed to the door, somehow telling her to get out. She just glared at me, then started looking around my room looking for the key. The corner of my mouth raised slightly as it registered to her that she wouldn't get into it.
"Fine but I will get into it eventually, Samantha you can't lock me out forever." She stated then stomped out of my room, slamming the door shut behind her. I cringed as it banged against the wall.
I stood up and walked over to my stereo system and plugged it in. I opened up the tray and looked at the CD's that were still inside. There was Simple Plan's albums Get Your Heart On, and Still Not Getting Any, as the first and second discs. I turned the tray and looked at the other three. There was Snow Patrol's album Fallen Empires, and The Sick Puppies' albums Tri­polar and Dressed Up as Life. All these albums have music that made my depression seem easier because I could feel my pain through their words but it doesn't help anymore. I decided to listen to the CD's and I felt a strange relief as the first album started playing. I blasted the volume until my speakers were just about to start cracking. I walked back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I tried to smile and it felt stiff because I haven't used the muscles in my face in a while. I tried to speak but still could feel no vibrations. I sighed and thought to myself one step at a time Sam, it will slowly get easier. I walked back to my desk and wrote the title of the paper.

The Monster Inside