You can crack but never shatter

Chapter One

Looking at my life hurts. Not in an damsel and distress way, just a regular way I guess. I'm not a dramatic person, but I can still feel. Or at least I think I can. I have no way to describe it, to capture it in a jar, then expose it for everyone to see. So everyone knows. And that whole thing just flat out sucks, because I'm usually really good with words. Two years ago, I was the best writer in Ms. Tonson's 7th grade class. At thirteen, I didn't really know whats up with me. And I still don't, if anything, it's more foggy than ever. I wish I could explain to you how serious this has become. I'm trying so damn hard to find at least a slither of a voice. But every time I try, I get pushed down. 

This whole thing is shitty, because things have changed. Not just for me, I'm admittedly observant in everything. I tend to understand the ever lasting nature of pressure and disrespect. I've seen my parents drizzling arguments slowly turn into to thunderstorms. I've experienced first hand a suicide, my moms. I've been relevant to the burden of everyone around me. Knowing it's my fault. A therapist would probably say that there's no one to blame. But I'm no therapist. I'm just an observer. 

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I wake up, knowing that today's going to suck. As if it's in the atmosphere. Some new sent of air freshener. The tiny little particles invading my brain. I already feel my depression dancing on the line of suicide. And the snap sharp razors pulling me in. 

No.

Not today.

That's the thing. I try really hard. I try to be a perfect daughter, to be happy and to let the self inflicted marks fade. But when try my hardest, it rolls up and slams into my face. My pulse is rising, my temperature rising. Cold beads of sweat on my for head. When my urges become to much this is what happens. I don't know it it's an anxiety thing or if I'm just insane. Probably both. I've never seen a professional, a shrink, and health is a bullshit mixed of barbaric zombies and talk of sex. I'm only in the ninth grade, and their already teaching us about the proper fitting of condoms. That's small town North Carolina for you. Better safe then sorry. Of course the health administration department gives no attention to teen suicide rate. It's higher than its been in a long time. But their not ready to face the reality.

Kind of like the rest of the world.

*****

I roll out of bed, just like a typical teenager. I try and make it out of my triggering room as fast as possible. My wrists itch. Typical as always. 

I stumble down the stairs, light headed from thinking. I think too much. I can already hear russling down in the kitchen. My dad's already left for work. So it has to be Adam. My dad always leaves early, ever since when found moms note, he never looks me in the eye. About two days later, i went to his room to ask him something irrelevant enough to forget. I stopped before I got there, I heard crying. At first I thought it was Adam, I assumed dad was just comforting him. But then I heard dad;s voice. I peeked through the door crack to be him sprawled out on the edge of the bed, whispering words. Words I couldn't understand due to the severity of his emotions.

And it's my fault.

I duck my head down as I go into the kitchen. I don't want to be a bother. Adam's looking through the pantry, as I go to the tap and fill as glass of water. 

"Want some cheerios?" Adam asks. I know he's trying, but I can bring my self to look him in the eye. Not with what he already thinks of me. I'm not ready to hear it. So i just shake ny head. It's not like I'm trying to deprive my self of food to be less awkward. I'm just not hungry. I haven't been in awhile. I usually just eat enough to stay healthy. I already see that my barely eating habits are affecting my body. Pale skin with bones protruding out of it. 

"Alyse?' He says, bringing me out of my thoughtful explanation. I look up.

"I'm a little worried, are you ok?" My head darts towards his direction, in shock. Never has anything similar left his mouth.

I can feel my breathing start to become laboured and trapped in my throat. No not in front of him. 

"I'm f-f-fine." I stutter/ wheeze. No I'm not. I say that as quickly walk out the door with my backpack. I can't handle it. I start my regular walk to school, Adam's friend picks him up on his way to school everyday. At first he'd ask me if I wanted a ride, I'd always mange a smile and tell him I need the exercise. I used to, it used to help. But now my legs feel dumbbells. To heavy and unsteady. I feel like I just can't deal anymore.

My usual route is peaceful, right past the river and open land. I can see lush heavenly moutians in above me. The birds chirp, and the wind rustles. It's peaceful, finally. I promise you I get no euphoria from this. It's just kind of nice. The feeling of knowing that I could climb up those moutians, and be someone else. Someone who's loved, who isn't mentioned in a suicide note. Just someone. 

My pastel blue hair wrapped around with wind. Its naturally straight, so I don't really worry. If it was curly or frizzy, then it'd be annoying. I remember two months ago, when thing weren't this bad, I dyed it. Everyone was joyful about it and called me blue berry juice for a whole week. My dad, for the first time in along time, even cracked a smile.

All of my positive thinking is quickly drowned out by the noise of my peers. High school? More like hell.

I know everyone's high school experience differs. It's tough on a lot of people. 

"Sup freak?" I heard someone yell in the distance.

They didn't know the half of it,