A Girl With Scars

So, I lie there. In bed. Alone. Waiting. But, waiting for what? Probably nothing....

My thoughts were about my razor. Ah, it's nights like these that I hate the most. The endless, lonely, miserable fucking nights.

I get up. I go to the bathroom. I grab my razor. For a second, I just stopped and looked at it. I found my reflection. I looked at the mirror. I looked at the beaten down girl. The girl that gets As and Bs. The girl who smiles in the rain. The girl who is too nice and has given too many second chances. I looked back at the 6 year old girl who had a gigantic pop-up pink castle, the sanctuary for her dolls and stuffed animals. The girl who wanted to be a princess, then a veterinarian, then a teacher, then a singer, then an artist, and now, nothing.

'What happened?' I asked myself.

What happened to that innocent little girl? Was she gone?

I don't think so. I just think life happened.

Her uncle died of a heart attack.

Then her grandma who she loved more than her mother died of lung cancer that spread to her brain when she didn't even smoke.

Then her brother was born, leaving her now not the only child.

Then she found out they were moving to California, leaving the only friend she had.

Then her dad, a marine, left for a year deployment.

Then she found out her mother has thyroid cancer and million other diseases.

Then her dad came back so mom could have a surgery.

She was bullied.

Her mom got moody.

Her dad had a bad temper.

Her brother was now 2.

5th and 6th grade she felt alone.

Friends came then left.

She smiled and laughed still convincing her self she was happy.

She got to 7th grade.

Now 12.

She couldn't take it anymore.

She broke.

She fell.

She still smiled.

She still laughed.

She had better friends.

But they didn't hide their sadness.

They were so selfish she thought.

But she got tired.

She couldn't handle it.

She slowly stopped smiling.

And laughing.

And talking.

And learning.

She started to cut.

And starve.

She was never good enough.

Never. enough.

Tears stung my eyes, threatening to flow out. What I've been through. what my mind has been through.

I'm stronger than this.

I looked at my razor.

'Cut!' my mind screamed.

No.

I put it in my cabinet.

I looked at my scars.

I've been living in this hell hole for too long now.

I may not be happy.

I may not be skinny.

I sure as heck ain't perfect.

I remember that girl at school.

"I'm judging you," she says.

Well I'm sorry, bitch.

I wasn't born to be perfect.

I wasn't born to be super skinny.

Or super smart.

Or super pretty.

My life has been fucking crap.

So why do you have the fucking right to judge it?