The Book I'll Never Write

Chapter: A sad one

When I was younger, I was bullied a lot. People would beat me up, call me names, spread rumours. I was an 11 year old little girl who didn't understand why people were so mean to me, I didn't get why they hated me. Every time I wondered "What did I do wrong?" But as I've grown older, I've come to realise that I did nothing wrong. The hurt and anger and meanness from them wasn't my fault at all, merely a reflection of their insecurities.

Alas, I learned that lesson after I developed a terrible habit to cope. You see, one night I was just sitting in my room alone and I was thinking about everything that had happened. I was probably 12 years old. I used my nail and dug into my skin, not enough to bleed but enough to realise that pain helped silence the noise in my head. It progressed, and it got to the point where I was taking blades out of pencil sharpeners and destroying myself from the outside to try to silence what killed me on the inside.

When my mom found out, she got mad. She looked at me angrily and with tears in her eyes and asked how I could do that to her. She told me she knew what depression was like, and she just chose to be happy. I thought she was right, she was my mom. So I tried, I tried so hard to just be happy again. But I felt wrong, messed up, broken. I couldn't do that.

I became obsessed with my weight. I would weigh myself as much as I could, constantly checking to see if the number would go down. I was 12 and I only weighed 80 lbs. Which, seemed pretty normal. Nobody knew or suspected anything. I've always been really little, the skinniest in my family, so nobody thought anything of it.

I think my teachers knew I wasn't okay. They always seemed to be a little extra nice to me. Or at least, a lot of them did. I was never exactly a "sad kid". Honestly, I was bubbly and full of life. But if you really looked, my eyes were tired; weary and uncertain. I learned to mask my emotions and hide away. It's how I survived. But, I got caught.

A teacher I had in 7th grade was the one who caught me first. She took up my phone, and I still don't know why, but she took off the case. I had kept my blade in there. So, she turned it over to the school. My mom got called, and I was sent to a mental hospital. I was an outpatient there, and I was grouped with the kids since I was 12. Let me just tell you it was awful. It broke my heart to see little kids, some who could be no older than 6, who were inpatients there. There was one little boy, his name was Caleb, and god when I left him I wanted to cry.

Caleb was a bright little kid, he was incredibly smart and extremely kind. I gave him my jacket, and a hat I had. I never found out why he was in there, but it was sad to see him and all the other little kids in there. I felt very protective over the kids, and did my best to seem big and strong. I felt bad for them, not getting to go home for Christmas.

Me though? I wished I could have stayed in there for Christmas. I was 12, and I was excited for Christmas. But, My step dad was angry. He yelled at me, and chased me into my room and yelled more. He said I had ruined his Christmas. I got pretty quiet after that. Didn't talk as much, didn't laugh as much, didn't smile. It felt like he cut a piece of me out that night, that I will never get back.

I was clean for a while after I left the mental hospital. But I ached a lot, I craved it. I felt lost and heavy. So, I went back to it. But I was more careful. Careful not to get caught. I did have some friends though. I told them about it, and they tried to help me. But, they started cutting too. I felt like it was my fault even though they swore it wasn't. I felt like everything I touched, got broken. So I got even more shy. I hid more, and I looked down a lot.

When I was 13, near the end of the year, I met this guy. He was older than me, he was 15, and he was my friends brother. I met him at a musical theatre performance I was in. However, I wasn't in most of the performance, so I talked to him through a lot of it. I gave him my number, and we texted a lot. He called me pretty, and cute, and beautiful. All the things I'd never been called. I was drunk on his attention, and I was needy for it. I became consumed with him. Even after he broke up with me, and wanted to stay "just friends".

He invited me to his birthday party. I was the youngest there, and I was awkwardly shy. The party went from 6 P.M. to 3 A.M. the next morning. I won't lie, it was fun. I flirted, joked around, talked and laughed. Once I opened up, I was easily the center of attention. I was shy enough to be cute, but bold enough to be cool. I got two more numbers, and I even sat on someone's lap. The boys all made jokes about kissing me, and a few times I thought "well, I guess if they do it I won't be mad." None of them did though, but they all tried to get my attention. It really is a good memory, even if some of the things I did were stupid and reckless.

The thing all these boys had in common though, was that they were all just a bit messed up. I felt like they understood me. Turns out though, they really didn't. When I moved away, I told myself I would change and I would get better. And for a while, I did. Yet old habits die hard, and I was back to my regular routine.

Thankfully though, I met wonderful people who helped me along the way. People who understood when to just listen, and when to give advice. I gained my smile back slowly. I never ever would have been able to come this far without those wonderful people. I really am incredibly lucky they stayed by my side.

There are still days when I don't have the energy to smile. When I feel like just breathing is exhausting. But I get through them. I really am the happiest I've been in a long time. I always felt ashamed of my scars, and I felt ugly with them. I'm learning now though, that I am wonderful just the way I am. I don't mind my scars that much anymore, because they are a part of my story. Sometimes I get sad about them, because I was just a lonely little kid and nobody connected the dots until too late. So, to anyone out there who is struggling or hurting at all;

Know that I was the same way. You are not alone I promise. You are worth more than I could ever explain, and even if you don't see it, you are. It'll be hard, but you'll get through it.