The Battle Within (Discontinued)

Walking on Egg Shells

January 10

     When you're a kid you crave the attention of your parents, going out of your way for their approval, even competing with your siblings to out-do the other. Right?

     It wasn't that way after I first became aware that attention meant bring another beer from the fridge.

     I soon began to avoid all attention. From my mother, Adam, Carl, I even flew under the radar at school. The only one who I couldn't avoid was James. James had my back, and I had his. If you protect the ones you love, if you spend enough time with them, you can see through their strongest mask, break through their tallest wall and reveal the scared heap inside. James was the only one who could or, I guess, would climb over my walls and yank my disguise away. It was annoying how good he was at this, but I was grateful.

     But avoiding attention had consequences. Soon you became known as the weido who sat in the back of the room, seen as distant because you didn't speak. And when you become known as this you can't shake it no matter where you go, and you invite the teasing in some sick way because you feel you deserve it or so the bullies think.

     That's how it was, hell that's how it still is but now I know how to handle it.

     Elementary school was innocent teasing, but when I moved to middle school the teasing became more cruel. Kids would call me fat because I wore a large when other's wore small. They mocked my hair and clothes as well.

     Some days I would rather stay home and tend to my mother than go to school. That thought began to scare me on those days.

     Soon I grew depressed. I thought I heard voices and one day when I accidentally sliced my finger open  cutting vegetables I stood there, my finger bleeding onto the counter and my mind slowly numbing. And I couldn't help but think, "It's so peaceful." because I wasn't thinking about my mom, or school; all I thought about was the blood and the pain in my finger.

     It felt good not to worry.

     After that I would hurt myself in more and more ways; running into sharp corners, hitting my toes on counters and chairs until I had broken one, punching brick walls until my knuckles bled, and finally I started to cut my wrists.

     I didn't cut myself on purpose until I was nearly out of middle school. I had found a hand-held pencil sharpener and used a small screw driver to take the blade out. When I first cut myself with the small razor the line was thin and shallow, and blood only seeped out in random places.

     It only stung, but that was all I needed. When the cuts on my wrists began to multiply I wore long sleeved shirts and jackets even in hot weather. No one knew what I did, even James couldn't climb this wall.

     But, the sick thing is, as the cuts got deeper the more I got hooked. By the time I was a freshman in high school I was addicted to pain, I was thrilled by the sight of my own blood. That worried me the most.

                                                                   -Maxx