Paint It Black

Where it all started.

Five years ago, no one could say I was crazy. Not one person could utter my name and freak in the same sentence. I was a wondeful kid, ya know? I did my homework on time, with the help of mom and dad of course. I couldnt do anything without their encouragement. I was weird. Ive always been weird.

I had a best friend. her name was Jeanna. Her mom was a teacher at my school. Jeanna was beautiful. Blonde hair that glowed when the sun touched it, blue eyes that the ocean envied, and such a magnificent body that I desperatly wanted. 10 years old and I already felt jealous of another girls body. Is it possible to feel such jealousy at such a young age. While kids are supposed to be concerned with play time outside, and what mom will pack for lunch, I was hating my own skin.

Envy. One of the seven deadly sins. I didnt know that of course. I was only 10, and not much of a church goer. None the less, I understood jealousy. I was jealous of the ear-to-ear grin my best friend was so gracously given from god. I craved to be the "pretty" friend, but I was plaged with the unlucky title of the "ugly" friend.

Day after day, I was forced to sit back and bare witness to the endless compliments and proposals from classmates. "Jeanna, will you be my girlfriend?", "You're so beautiful", Jeanna, wanna go out?". I'm still astonished that fifth graders knew what "going out" meant.

I remember having silly little crushes in elementary school. Day dreaming of holding hands on the swing set and giggling at corny jokes. Oh, yes. There was one boy in particular that I had my eye on. Maxwell. Such a charming name. How could I be so infatuated with this boy? Does that matter? No.

Of course, like any young girl would do, I told my very bestest friend in the world. "Jeanna! I have a secret! I like Max." I giggled and danced at the mere thought of that handsom young stalion. Jeanna was just like every best friend should be, supportive and jumpy just as much as I. Little did I know, she had a little thing for Max too.

Being the most popular girl in the fifth grade, she could have any boy she desired. Including Max.

Right around the corner was our annual fifth grade dance! I felt nothing but butterflys and anticipation. I had mustered up all of my courage to ask Max to the dance with me. For me, That was the bravest thing ive ever done.

"Hey Megan! I'm going with Max to the dance!"

Those words. They stung like ocean water on a cut. Jeanna spoke those few painful words.

How could I have not noticed? My best friend craving the only boy I crushed so hard on? Was it irrational to feel so ugly? Not to me. Oh god. I felt as though my world was crumbling down. Months of being pushed to second had built up to this. That final hit broke my fragile 10 year old heart.

What came next was unexpected. What drove me to this is still a mystery to myself. I sat so still on my bed. So safe and secure, yet so terrified and sad. I remember it all. The first time I did it. The cool touch of the mathamatical compass against my skin. The reflection of light of my ceiling fan in the metal. The warm trickle of blood that gently escaped from my skin. I had created the first visible sign of my internal pain. It felt good. So good that I couldnt give it up. I knew that I would need more.

In the weeks to come, I added to the collection on my arm. Every betrayal, every game of red rover I was left out of, every lunch of eating alone, every minute I was hurt, became a cut. This was my new hero.