Alex and I walked out to my car after school let out, figuring I would get the truth out of what happened to her, I wanted to be there for her. We went to the library not only to work on the project but I felt that was a safer place to tell me what had happened or was a happening. The drive to the library was longer than usual only because Alex seemed antsy and kept changing the station until I turned on the CD that was in the stereo. Immediately Nanana by My Chemical Romance started to play and Alex seemed intrigued with the fact that I was listening to it. Lip singing some of the words as we pulled into the library.
‘I didn’t know you listened to them,’ Alex said. ‘Yeah they’ve helped me through a lot of the shit that has happened to me.’ After picking a table we got down to the truth about our pasts. I was first.
“Well I was bullied as you know for 9 years and then transferred, and transferred to this high school. My parents don’t really care about me and tell me I’m just being overdramatic and that I’m lengthy or don’t eat enough. I have four siblings, three brothers and a sister all younger than me. My brother beats me up even though he is roughly four years younger than me.’ I saw showing off one of the bruises that I have from him. Tugging on my sleeve I continue to talk, ‘I hide all my emotions so they can just bulldoze me with shit and words that they think don’t hurt, but really do. People treat me like shit but I brush it off like nothing hurts or scares me. I’m afraid to live honestly. I’m yelled at to do things and then yelled at for doing them. I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, have depression, cut, and all the major things that people say are just for attention.’
Alex is just sitting there trying to take in what she just heard, I’m pretty sure. She seems fascinated, asking why I wear long sleeves. ‘I’m cold.’ ‘Come on Caroline, that’s such a bullshit answer you just admitted you cut but didn’t tell me the damage. I want to see how many times you needed me but I wasn’t there for you.’ I hesitated. ‘Give me your arm or I swear shit will go down,’ she whispered. I gave her my arm and she rolled the sleeve up. She seemed shocked with what was lying on my arm. Scars riddle the skin of my under arm.
‘So what? now you know, I hide it all, write it all in my music and then depression sweeps over and then this happens,’ I reference to my arms. She looked at me as she rolled up her sleeve to provide evidence as to why she cared. Her arms were scarred just as bad as mine if not less worse than mine. My inner demons were winning and hers were losing.
