The Book I'll Never Write

Chapter: Messy and sad.

Here's the tragic truth, dear readers. I'm not entirely sure that I'm gonna finish this book. And if I do, who's to say it'll get published? What would the point be if I were to put this into the world? I'm writing this as a way to make myself better, maybe. Or maybe i'm doing this with the intent of spilling my thoughts and emotions into the world. Maybe this is my way of making my mark on the world. But how am I supposed to do that when I am merely a 15 year old?*

I wrote in the beginning of this book that it would be odd. It most certainly won't be like any book I've ever read. But I think that's why I'm writing it, because If I don't, who will? This chapter is going to be a more thoughtful chapter, the kind that I'm sure my sister's boyfriend would disapprove of. If i ever show this to someone, I'm writing this out because it's how I feel, how I think. I need to do something with my thoughts or they will consume me. So, here we go.

Firstly, today is December 12th, 2016. Last night, I asked if I could cut my hair, and my dad got upset by the spontaneity of it. I felt hurt, deflated, and a bit panicked. I didn't know how to convey how important it was to me. I got upset. I punched a wall, then I punched a tree, and I slapped myself in the face a lot. I tried to pull my hair out and I was shaking and crying. Eventually, I calmed down, and went inside. I told my step mom how I felt, that I wanted to cut my hair off, honestly I was just trying to show her how desperate I was. How Incredibly important it was that I cut my hair. I felt like I was gonna puke, so i excused myself.

I was sitting in my room, in the dark, absolutely broken and angry at myself. I knew even in the moment that it was completely ridiculous to be so upset over something as miniscule as a haircut. I did things I didn't quite think through, and I made people feel bad. But I was sitting there, on my bed, head in my hands, feeling lost. My dad screamed, and I mean SCREAMED, at me to come down. He was beyond mad, he was furious. I started shaking immediately, I can't really handle people yelling at me. I let loose a sort of scream-sob thing. It honestly reminded me of my step dad, and I was scared. I pulled myself to my feet and walked to the door, I could barely breathe. I was shaking so bad it was hard to stand. I got to the stairs and didn't even make it completely down, He was yelling at me. I was shaking so bad I fell down. I was sobbing ugly, loud sobs. I could still hardly breathe, I was sobbing to the point where I felt dizzy. He asked me why, what made me think I could act like that? I was stressed, I was scared, and 5 years of pent up hurt and anger and self loathing and doubt were bubbling up and I screamed back. In a high pitch, desperate broken kind of voiced I yelled "Because I hate myself."

I immediately regretted it. I wanted to suck myself up into a ball, I wanted to sleep. I spent so long being "fine" that finally admitting I wasn't was too much for me. I was tired, I just wanted to lock myself up and forget what had happened. I was outside of my body, i could see myself balled up on the stairs absolutely terrified, lost inside my own head. And I could see my dad immediately soften, he was still upset, but now he was more worried than anything. But In that moment, all I could focus on was the anger. I was choking on my own sobs, struggling to get air into my lungs. He stopped yelling, and told me to come down and talk. I said I just wanted to go sleep. That made him and my step mom upset, they said I didn't get to say something like that and just ignore that I had. I was still shaking, I felt naked and wrong. I felt like they were talking down to me. I was mad at myself for exposing my lie, for letting someone see that I really wasn't okay. I stood up and bounced down the stairs, saying "I'm gonna blow my nose." and locking myself in the bathroom. I tried to calm myself down, I really did. I took deep breathes and prepared myself. I walked out, and I sat on the fireplace with my legs curled into my jacket.

I've never felt comfortable talking, especially not about stuff like this. I could feel myself shutting off, and I wanted nothing more than to forget anything happened. I knew they were concerned, they wanted to help. But I was trapped inside myself and I didn't know what to say. I'm much better at saying things when I can write them, but I couldn't. I was forced into the moment, and held there by questions I knew I had to answer. For the first time, I forced myself to talk. I tried so hard to explain to them that this was more than just normal human thoughts. I didn't know how to emphasize the severity of how I felt. I was a mess of raw emotions. I mostly felt guilt though. I felt bad that I had made them upset. I was honestly a mess, I looked disgusting. Puffy eyes, red nose, snot dripping everywhere and sobs wracking my body. I tried to calm down but I couldn't. I felt like they were punishing me, even though I knew they weren't.

Eventually, they were satisfied. I had stopped crying, and I went to my room. I kept replaying it over and over, and I couldn't sleep. I honestly haven't stopped thinking about it since. So, fast forward to today. I got home, and I expected some great big change. Some shift in the balance, but honestly, I just felt lost. I sort of expected my step mom to pick me up, and drive me to the haircutters place. I expected my dad to come home, and tell me he liked my new haircut, and ask me how my day was. I expected something to change. But nothing did, and that made me feel even more lost and sad. I wrote about it, a short poem type thing. At first it was just to vent, and then i figured I should share it. So I left it on the stove. No doubt right now my dad and my step mom are talking about it, wondering what to do. I'm not entirely sure how this will turn out.

I'm scared, to say the least. As I am sat here writing this, I am very scared. But I am also sort of calm. I don't have to pretend anymore. I have nothing to prove. I can be broken. And yet, I still feel like I'm not really allowed to be anything other than okay. I know it must be heartbreaking for a parent to see their child in a state like mine, but I didn't choose to be like this. I'm hopelessly lost.

It seems odd, for all of this to happen over a haircut. Doesn't it? I know it does. It's ridiculous. But to me, it means more than just a haircut. It's not just a new hairstyle to me anymore. I don't want to pretend that someone else is staring at me in the mirror. I don't want to use my hair as a shield, and hide behind it. I want it to be a part of me, not the center piece. To me, cutting off my hair is a new beginning, It's a fresh start. It's saying "Look at me, see me for who I am! I'm going to get better and this is just the first step." It means that instead of shying away from things, and pretending to be okay, I am going to make the effort to actually help myself. I'm going to talk about how I feel, and try my hardest to learn to cope. It's going to be hard, of course it will. You don't just change yourself overnight. I don't like talking to people about this kind of thing, about depression and all that, I don't like admitting that I am anything other than perfectly okay. But I am gonna try to get over that, and I will try to get better.

That's really all you can do. Try, and make an effort to improve. One can only hope that's enough. 

*I've been writing this for the span of about a year and a half and so, with this being published I am no longer this age. I just didn't feel like changing it since I will be getting even older the more I work on this.