BULLIED 2

Submission 1180

(I'm just putting a trigger warning here for selfharm and death) 

When people hear the word monster, they often think back to a time when they were a child, and asked their parents to check under their bed before resting. When I hear the word, my mind immediately goes back to times when I have been alone, my only companion the thoughts in my head. Those were my monsters. Alone at night in the pitch black, my mind racing to all the moments in my life I had ever felt alone, feeding the monsters until they were full. My monsters are not like most peoples monsters. 

 In the day time, I can go along my day happy as someone who was free and normal. Daytime was blissful and full of jokes and time spent with friends. The day time was a free place where I could be myself and have that comforting feeling of having people surrounding me, enjoying my company. That feeling never lasted long. 

 When I would get home, I would do my homework, and by the time I was done, I was forced to face the monsters inside my head, not under my bed. I'd lay down in the pitch black, the darkness engulfing my entire body, adding to the loneliness lurking in the depths of my mind. It wasn't until I tried sleeping that the real monsters came out. The ones that scared me the most. 

 They were there for the sole purpose of making my senses alert, reminding me of every detail that had happened that day. Remembering the names I was called, the people who were mean. It never bothered me until I closed my eyes, but the second I did, the monsters made a point to encircle my mind, and trap me. My mind. 

 My thoughts race through my head as I desperately try and escape to the land of sleep, but to no avail. My attempts go unnoticed as I fall into a dark hole. The cage encircling me getting tighter as the heaviness behind my eyes grows stronger, but their words keep replaying in my head... over and over and over. It was a desperate and unfair fight between me and my thoughts... I could see an escape, I knew it was there... I just had to speak. But my mind wouldn't let me. It never did. All I could do was sit there, like a caged bird, waiting until morning to be released, only to go right back in, every single night. 

 I feel trapped inside my own mind every single night, I have severe anxiety and I've stopped trusting new people. All this? All this because of one person. She was my best friend and she stabbed me in the back, told everybody at my school a secret I never wanted to be released. She told everyone that I cut. My story, became the business of everyone else. They judged me, grabbed my wrist and stared at the scars as if they knew what I was going through. She went to the guidance counselor and told on me after commenting on a book she wrote about me. She lied and when I had evidence to prove she lied, she still had no consequences for her actions, and the feeling of lonlienes that she had caused me. 

 In today's society, you get judged on your looks, friends, crushes, clothes, music, in society, you get judged for being you. Society finds pleasure in driving young, innocent minds to the point of madness, the point of suicide. Society has no remorse, and it never stops. It doesn't care who it hurts or kills, because that's what society is nowadays, a murderer. I'm a young girl with a story, a story that is more mature and sad than it should be. 

 I was bullied mostly in fifth grade, but it started at the young age of nine. The people around me, they fed on my fears, my insecurities. It didn't get bad until I was an 11 year old girl, trying to figure out who I was. I was developing into a woman, and the comments kids brought upon me stung worse than any cut could. It was in that year that I decided I was nothing, and I meant nothing to those around me. It was that summer I took my new scissors meant for the upcoming school year, and dragged it across my wrist. It was then I became a victim of self harm. 

 Selfharm is like a drug. Addicting in the worst kind of ways. It controls your thoughts, turns them against you. It gives you the pleasure of hurting yourself, and eventually kills you if you don't say something to someone. It eats away at your inside, feeding your mind with thoughts of suicide. It takes a strong person to survive selfharm, and if you who are reading this has, then you are an amazing and strong person. I'm happy you're still here. 

 It was that summer that someone told me to kill myself for the first time. I wanted to, so badly did I want to end the pain I had been enduring. I had become weak, listening to the words they had said to me over and over. I became weak and vulnerable, and it was in the early hours of the morning, that I wanted to grab my parents gun and end it all. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom, and cried. For hours, I sat on the floor with an anxiety attack eating me away until I felt numb. I held all of my emotions in and I told no one. 

 Sixth grade rolled around and once again I was seen as weak, and was immeadiately picked on. It was okay to me because I had my best friend by my side. As February rolled around, she stabbed me in the back and left me for dead. 

 Rumors spread around about me, and I was left broken and bleeding. 

 I became a stronger person because of that. When she went to the guidance counslor, I wasn't mad. I was receiving the help I so desperately needed, but was too afraid seek. I became closer with my mom, and I've been clean for about two months. In those months, I managed to find someone I really like, who is now my boyfriend. I've made new friends I know are going to stick by me, and most importantly, I've learned how to love myself. 

 I used to be the girl who hated herself, look in the mirror and would cry. I was the curl who hated her thighs, and had few friends. I was sad and lonely, and I had cuts in my wrist, and rarely any food in my stomach. I was vulnerable and an easy target, and I was bullied. I hated myself and every aspect of my life, and it took so much for me to learn to love myself. 

 Now, still in sixth grade, I still have nights I am attacked by the monsters in my head. I still have days I look at a razor and long to feel the satisfaction. I still have days where I wish I could end my life because everything has been to stressful, and I know I will always have those days in my life. I learned from my mistakes, and I sincerely hope you can learn from my story, and know you are never alone. 

 Everyone has a story to tell, and this is mine.