Keep me Sane N.H.

Journal entry

Friday, January 3th

My daily routine is wake up, go to school, avoid anyone and everyone, don't talk to anyone, get through school, go home, go to my room, stay there unless it's to get a snack, and go to sleep. Same thing every single day. My parents didn't seem to worry. At first they thought I was just fine. They always kept their focus on my older brother anyway. He was the perfect child to them, I was just what came after. He had the perfect good behavior, good grades and a good social life. Everyone always compares me to him and I hate it. Just don't do it! I know I'm not like him. I never have been and never will.

I don't trust my brother or my parents. I don't trust anyone for that matter. I can't tell my brother anything because he'll either lecture me or rat me out to my parents. I mean that's what he did about my situation. I told him about these feelings. I told him how I find it hard to breath, to find a purpose for myself, and to let my heart continue beating. He caught one glimpse of the scar I once gave myself and told my parents. He put me here. If he's my family and he betrayed me, what makes you think someone who isn't related to me won't do the same or worse? So why would I want to tell a woman who I don't even know my story? She'd probably just end up telling my parents everything anyway.

I know that when she stares, she might look at the bruises and scratches that look like cuts thinking how and why I would do this to myself, but that is just a reminder she doesn't know me. She doesn't know that I could be found lying on the ground hoping my oppressors would go away but my silence only made them kick harder. They wanted to hear my screams. They always made me look in the mirror to see the bruised face, black eye, and one hell of a bloody nose. I had to find a way to let no one see. The image of them having a rabid dog chase me home still comes to mind. The laughter as they watched from their car.

I remember being dragged into the bathroom and constantly slammed into the mirror. How I had to grasp the sink to hold myself up. How when the water ran in the sink, on good days it'd be pink and on bad days almost a shade of black. How one time I had been suffocated under the water. It angered me. How did I put up with it? How could I have stayed silent for so long? When the nights I felt drowning was happening every single moment. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't live any longer. At least not like this.

I still remember the one who hates me the most decided I needed a haircut. In Chemistry, we were boiling Coca-Cola and once boiled, it comes out as this gunky substance. She rubbed it all over my hair. It eventually dried and well, majority of my hair became stiff and I had to get it cut.

My therapist handed me informational brochures and two different journals to write in. When the therapist told me I could go, I gave her a nod. I didn't want to speak to her. She walked behind me as I approached the door. She opened it and I walked out, but not before clumsily tripping over my own foot causing me to drop the things she handed me. Someone dropped beside me to pick them up. We both arose and I looked at him with fascination. He quickly handed me my things, walked passed me and inside to the therapist's office. And for a moment it was easy to breath, easy to find a purpose for living, easy to have my heart keep beating. With one small glimpse of a boy I didn't know, it kept me sane.

-Avery

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