I don’t think anything is supposed to change that much in one week. I suppose a big change happens within a span of a couple months, maybe more. But, then again, I wouldn’t really change the fact that I moved. Things change, life changes, and more importantly, people change . . . a lot. And that’s why I moved, because people can’t learn to keep their mouths shut. It got out that I cut, once. I left scars up my wrist that I can’t ever take back. They formed small red marks that are just starting to fade and if you run your finger up them, they’re pretty bumpy. I wouldn’t do it again, because it did nothing for me. It took away no pain, it added fear. Fear of someone seeing. Fear of not wearing bracelets. Then I told one person, my best friend I thought I could trust. I just let it out because I trusted her. I even showed her them. Then the next day I was being called emo and a freak. The reason I cut is because I was being called a freak, did they think saying that would make it any better for me? No, want to know why? They don’t care. The world is a dark maze and we’re just here to keep running. Running in circles and along paths we think we’ve never been up before, like love and brokenness. But, in reality, it’s the same damn thing
Every.
Single.
Day.
And this is what I think about when walking to school on my first day. I don’t think I’m depressed, just so done and over the stupid depression junk that I’m ahead of the thought that someone could diagnose and give me pills that could cure me of my thoughts. They are my thoughts. I created them and a pill won’t stop the cogs in my mind to not generate another and another and another. That’s why I never took any pills. That’s why I turned to the glamorized idea that cutting makes you feel something different. I still feel numb; a zombie walking through the snow to the bus stop. There are four boys ahead of me and I can’t seem to delve into the depths of my feelings to care at all. Besides, four boys and a girl, yeah, not a good combination. Whatever, it’s not like I’m going to try to be their friends. “What’s the m word you need to keep doing with friends?” My mom’s stale words echo in my mind. My lips move without hesitation, “Maintain,” I say it to the wind as if it talks back. The wind is silent.
The four boys look at me as I stand there with my stupid blue hat with a green puffball. It has those blue strings that are fun to chew on. That’s the only reason I bought it. Plus, it’s freezing in Colorado. My father warned me of that before I came here. A green hatted boy tapped my shoulder and I turned, making the wind blow my hair in my face. I growled and moved it behind my shoulders. “Hey, new kid? My name’s Kyle Broflovski.” God, like I cared. I didn’t at all. Nonetheless, I replied with a straight face.
“Rachel.” I never liked saying my own name aloud. It was such a posh name, it didn’t fit me. I always loved the name Hunter or maybe even the name Sam. But, I got ungraced with the name Rachel. And, of course, seeing Rachel was a pretty common name, I had common looks. Brown hair, brown eyes, tall body, low standards. Simple, plain, boring me doesn’t attract any attention, and I like it that way. Suddenly, I looked up to see this fat kid staring and smirking at me. He is short and, surprisingly, pleasant smelling. I concluded it was just the Axe that was drenched over him like sweat on a pig. Ha, and he’s literally a pig. “So, new girl, I’m Cartman. And that fag over there is Stan and next to him is the poorest kid in school, Kenny. His mamma so poor, she has to take the trash in!”
I didn’t laugh. The orange parka boy mumbled something similar to a curse, and the other boys laughed in the frigid air, their noses red as mine probably was. That’s when the bus pulled up; obnoxiously yellow, with kids inside bellowing in their conversations. I didn’t look who I sat next to because there were no empty seats. I was going to mind my own business. Suddenly, the strong stench of hazel and coffee hit me. I allowed my eyes to glance over, and the boy sitting next to me gasped at my sudden brown eye contact with his green ones. I smirked, my lips curling slowly. Now, I don’t know why I smirked, probably because this kid was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane and I was as still as a statue. The boy’s voice was high and squeaky when he spoke, “I’m T-Tweek and I heard your name i-is Rachel?” I nodded slightly; the kid smiled crookedly and continued shaking. I was a straightforward person and he did seem nice so I wondered if I should ask why he-
