31 Reasons Why

Two Stars

Two Stars

    When I was little, the moon was my best friend. Seeing it up there in the sky comforted me. At the age of 10 I already had more problems than you could imagine. My mom was a young mother and from the minute I was born she despised me. My mother hadn’t wanted me and while some might say she got herself into that situation she really didn’t. My mom was always the perfect girl. She was popular, beautiful, thin and smart. Everyone liked her and she always helped out everyone. But one  day as she was walking home from cheerleading practice- I mean of course she was a cheerleader- a man grabbed her. And he raped her. That’s how I came about. And that's why she hates me. After she had me I think it finally set in with her and the rest of the family. My grandmother never wanted to be around me, she called me the devils spawn. I guess you could say she warmed up to me. My mom started drinking and would come home drunk a lot. I learned all this from my aunt, the only one who was ever there for me.

When i was 8, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My mom just saw it as another reason to hate me.

When I was 6 I went to school, and that was my first experience with bullies.

When I was 4, I almost drowned in the pool. That was back when my mom was still drinking. She left me in there, and I moved to the wrong side.

The moon was my comfort. The only thing that kept me sane. I'd look up at him from my window and I'd say,

"Hey moon. Glad you're back."

One night, right when the moon and the stars came out I noticed two stars, one on either side of the moon. They had always been there but I'd never noticed them. They seemed to stay near the moon almost as if they were comforting him. I began to think of the moon as myself, and the stars were the friends I wished I had.

Everynight I'd talk to them. It became my new obsession. I'd tell them why I was sad and sometimes I'd imagine them saying things back, trying to comfort me.

Whenever my mom would yell at me or hit me and imagine they were next to me, wiping my tears. They tucked me in at night, and lit up my room to scare away all the monsters.

When I was about 9, my mom forced me to leave.

"Get up," she said, yanking on my arm to try and pull me up. I had been playing with the only doll I had. It was a porcelain doll, but with one arm and a cracked face. I had found her in the garbage on my way home from school.

"W-why?"  I didn't budge.

"I said get up you little bitch." And with that she yanked me all the way up, and I stumbled a bit. I looked at her, tears in my eyes. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin pale, with the right eye twitching. "We gotta go. People are coming for me. Get your stuff and pack it up. I would leave you, but I don't want to go to jail for a worthless little girl."

I quickly packed my stuff, scared that someone would come and hurt me. We then moved to a small town. One where everyone knew each other. My mom went to rehab and my aunt stood with me. Then my mom came back and she was different. She still hated me, but she wasn't on drugs and barely drank alcohol. She suddenly cared about what everyone else thought. She threatened to hurt me if I told anyone about our past life.

She made friends with the neighbors, but she never brought me anywhere. It was almost as though I didn't exist. I would go to school, where I had to get great grades and then I had to come straight home.

I no longer had the comfort if the two stars. And I think that was what pushed me to suicide.