I've always been the type of person who thinks about death. I think about people's reactions and what my friends would say at my funeral. Yes, I know that's twisted. My brain has been operating like that since the eighth grade. It was like a switch had been turned off and I could no longer relate to anyone in the way they wanted me to. I stopped showing my teeth in photos because people used to comment about how chubby my cheeks are. I stopped wearing my hair short because stranger often thought I was a boy.dad was always deployed overseas or working and my mom always asked about how our day at school had been. My brothers commented about my weight and teased me about things I was secretly insecure about. By the spring semester of my eighth grade year, I was writing love letters to a boy and discussing my plans to kill myself. My parents found out and gave me "the talk". The one where they asked me what they'd done wrong. The one where they questioned their parenting methods. They said "You have it great here, so many other people have it worse. You should be grateful for the things we do for you." I remember the tone in my father's voice. I remember the tears falling down my mother's face. My brothers were locked away in their room on the opposite side of the house. I remember the tears falling from my face but the emotions I couldn't fully process. It was as though the tears weren't my own. I wasn't crying tear from my own eyes. Someone else was doing the work for me. My heart beat felt as though it'd come to a stop. There were no rhythms playing in my head. There were to thought running through my mind. Instead I was silent. I spoke only to make the conversation end quicker. My middle school years were over soon enough and I pretended to be happy. I said that if I pretended enough to be so, that I'd eventually start to believe myself. I think it worked for a while. Sophomore year, I lost my will to do anything. I stopped doing my school work. I stopped looking at colleges to apply to. I stopped participating. Junior year wasn't much better. I switched schools and moved to a non-early college high school. I picked up my grades and made friends. I started enjoying life a little better. Senior year went really well. I started getting bad again, but I remained close to my friends. Currently, I'm in my spring semester of college and I've hit an all time low. I'm not cutting. I've actually never cut before in my life. I've always used rubber bands.. I'd snap them against my wrist. They never leave scars and at the most would just leave bruises. My life isn't as bad as it could be, I guess, but that doesn't mean I'm happy either. I guess I've just never really found my "happy place".
