Memoirs of a Girl with Broken Dreams

Day One

Today I was asked if I had cats. I never expected it. Damn short sleeves. I was in my second to last class and it came up. I had no answer. I felt the tears threaten to spill, because I knew that what was on my arms wasn't from any cat.

"Yeah, cats can be vicious." I hear myself reply in a haze. I turn back to the group assignment, but tuck my arms in my lap under my desk. I can't focus. The damage has been done. I consider going to the teacher and asking if I can take a moment.

But what would I do then? Would I hurt myself? Cry until I couldn't cry anymore? I remained silent the rest of the day. I just couldn't talk, for fear of the tears escaping. When I got home, I cried. Nobody noticed.

Nobody ever notices. I smile and say I'm fine. But there's a war waging inside of me and nobody notices. I just feel like I'm drowning. Like I'm completely alone.

Because I am. I am alone. I am completely alone. My family just leaves me be, says I'm a lost cause.

Kids at school try sometimes. But they threaten my with telling teachers or counselors, who will tell my parents. And I can't have that. Not again.

I should be doing my homework. Instead I'm writing in a useless book. It's more useful than me at least. I have butterflies on my arms. Friends trying to help but it doesn't take the pain away.

I want to do it. I want to be able to say that my cat did something that everyone knows didn't. Well except for that one innocent boy in my English class who saw them as cat scratches. Thank you for that. I pray that he never grows up. He never finds the real reason why I was about to cry. The real reason I don't eat and I'm a ghost in my classes. He is one of the last teenagers who exists like that. And I hope he always stays that way. A pure soul, as opposed to me, a piece of shit. Of garbage.

I now have to go and face the world again. With a fake smile. Fake laughs. And long sleeves.