This girl is broken. So broken. But no one notices. They think she’s fine, that she is one of most beautiful and carefree girls they know. But it’s not true. She’s falling apart inside. Battling demons that terrorize her every day. She tries to drown them out- tries to forget them, but there’s something else. You see these demons, they’re learning how to swim. Learning how to get past the dams she builds. And she can’t fend them off by herself, so how is she supposed to make it passed this? No one is there to help her because they don’t know about them. Everyone around her is oblivious to her struggle.
So she fights, fights as hard as she can. It’s still not enough. No matter what she does they still break through. The only thing that makes them pause for just a second is the tearing of her skin. That is when relief from fighting comes. When she watches the color red ooze from the rip and drip down the rest of her clean tan, skin. In this moment everything goes numb and this is when she is truly at ease, when the smile that blesses her lips is true. Time slows down and all of her problems seem small because she can focus on the parting of her skin and the small sharp pain it causes. No one will fully understand why she does what she does. They won’t understand that she needs this to escape the harsh words filling her head. Voices telling her she’s fat, she’s ugly; no one will ever want her. She craves this-no needs this to live, to survive. Without this she doesn’t know what she would do. This is why she doesn’t stop. The constant urge fills the back of her mind and the only way to stop it is to succumb to it.
Unfortunately though, everything good has to come to an end. Too soon she has to wrap her arm with a bandage and blame it on a pulled muscle. She tucks the blade back into its hiding spot under her shampoo bottle. She steps back into reality, back into the stress and horror that surrounds her every day.
She masks her pain with a smile and lets people think she loves her life and loves living. She lets them think that she is confident in what she tells them she plans to do with her future. She lets them think that she believes she actually has a future, though in her mind she can’t seem to think much past making to tomorrow. But despite that, she doesn’t let them know. She keeps it hidden behind laughter over the smallest things and the big. tooth-filled smile she shows everyone. And nobody suspects a thing. They fall for her act every day, not believing that someone who acts like she does could even start to think the way she actually does.
Though her act does what she intends it do, she still wishes for someone to see past it. She wishes for at least one person to see that pain that plagues her and save her from it. She wants someone to look her in the eye and hear her internal screams for help. But no one does and she guesses that she understands because she isn’t that special. She isn’t special enough for someone to pay that much attention to. She scolds herself for ever hoping that could happen. She knows she’s fat and not as pretty as her friends, there’s nothing to look at when it comes to her and she knows this. But she can’t help but have hope that maybe someday somebody won’t see that, that they will see something worth loving and come save her from herself. But the possibility that she lives long enough for that decreases with each passing hour, she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep herself from ending everything.
No one will miss her. Or at least that’s what she thinks. She thinks that no one has noticed the scars or the sadness that dulls her eyes, so why would they care if she no longer lived among them? She feels like a burden to them and by ending her life she would take that bother away. She would make their lives better. The last thing she wants to do is hurt those she loves, so she doesn’t try to get to close or allow them to get too attached to her. She doesn’t want her departure to be difficult; she wants it to be a release for both her and everyone else. This is all what she tells herself late at night, when she’s all alone and no one could really stop her. This is what she uses to justify her thoughts on how she will take her last breath. She contemplates; pills would be the easiest way, but she could always cut a vein and bleed out, leaving the world at the hand of her trusty blade. So many ways she thinks, on how to end the time a human body has on the earth; she throws in hanging herself; death by strangulation, but then again she thinks that would be uncomfortable to be hanging from your neck and takes it back out. She decides that cutting a vein would inconvenience those who have to clean the blood and pills will be the way she exits. She makes sure that there is an abundance of pills on hand and scratches out a few last words to reassure anyone who cares that she will be happier this way and downs almost 40 sleeping pills with a glass of water. She lies in her bed one last time and enjoys the comfort it gives her. She cradles her pillow and thinks about all the tears she had shed in this exact position. A tear slips out of her eye, but it is not of regret for what she has done. It’s because of the sadness the envelopes her because her life just wasn’t meant for the things she wanted. She wanted to be thin and pretty, to be desired by guys and loved by everyone but none of that would have happened for her and she knows this. She has accepted these facts and she doesn’t understand these tears because it’s all going to end and be ok for her. She gently wipes the tears away and start to feel the effect of the pills. Her eyelids feel heavier each time she blinks. She blinks one last time, taking in her room, the last thing that graces her eyes is a photo of her when she was 11, 5 years ago, and 1 year before all this started that was when her smile was still genuine. In that moment she is certain she has made the right choice and it reassures her as her heart slows and one last breath is taken.
Her mom finds her the next morning with a gentle smile playing on her lips. Her body is chilly to the touch and her mom knows she’s gone. She pulls in a gasp and crumples to the ground. She failed as a mother; she didn’t see that her baby girl was suffering. Her hand brushes the note and she turns to read it. Her eyes cling to every word that it written and she can think of nothing but how she failed her daughter by not seeing that she was in pain.
The next week a funeral is held and everyone who hears about makes an appearance. Most didn’t know her, they’re there simply because suicide is a sad thing. But soon everyone knows almost every detail of her life. Soon everyone cares about her and notices her. They start making RIP picture for facebook and they even make a day dedicated to celebrating this life that was taken by depression.
If only they had cared when she was here it never would have happened. But I guess nobody cares unless you’re pretty or dead.
