I am Nothing

Page 4

School started that fall. I was going into 7th grade, he was going into 9th. We weren't that far apart in age, because you remember I really should have been in 8th grade at least.

Dixon and I didn't see each other as often, but when we did it was indescribable. We shared our fist kiss in the woods behind his house. Nothing could have made me happier. I was finally beginning to think that my life would get better; and maybe even stay better too.

God, I was so wrong.

Then it happened. One day there was a call; I answered. It was Dixon's family. That said he'd been in a car wreck, and they didn't think he was going to make it. They wanted to know if I wanted to say goodbye. I broke down crying. My mom took the phone from me, and heard the whole story. She drove me to the hospital that night.

It's awful to see the only person who's ever really cared about you die. I saw him, through the window. They wouldn't let us in the room. I hated them for that. I watched him die, and couldn't do a single thing about it. It broke me inside.

The funeral they had was horrible. Dixon was an only child, and neither of his parents had ever paid him much attention. (Maybe that's why we gravitated towards each other so naturally.) They just talked a little about Dixon's interests, his aspirations, his dreams that would never come true. They mumbled things along the lines of wishing they had been better parents. No one else spoke, other then the pastor running the ceremony. I saw the coffin lower into the ground. That was only a couple of months ago, in December.

I cried more than I have ever cried that day. I cried because Dixon was gone. I cried because no one cared as much as I did. I cried because there was nobody to love me now. I cried because there was nothing else to do.

I started wearing longer, baggier, sweaters all of the time, to hide my scars. I started shutting people out more than ever. I walked around--no--I lived in a state of numbness. The number of scars grew. I forgot the idea of ever wearing shorts. I waited for someone, anyone, to catch on. I wanted to scream, and make them realize what was happening.

No one--not my parents, my sisters, my teachers--none of them ever noticed. And because of that I died inside.

I am broken. I am grieving. I am devastated. I am empty. I am no longer happy. I am not valued. I am not loved. I am stupid. I am ugly. I am a disappointment. I am nothing.