Yellow Will Always Be The Color I Think Of When I Think Of You

What's The Point?

Sadness radiates off of the girl with the brown eyes and deep auburn hair that sits at the back of the class and never says a word. No one knows she's sad because no one bothers to pay her even the slightest bit of attention. Maybe if they did they'd know. They'd know that she's sad and doesn't know how to deal with these new emotions that are cooking inside of her adolescent mind. And god she'd love to talk. She'd love to tell someone how she has this deep pressure in her stomach and gloomy feeling in her head every morning that the sun shines and every night that the moon glistens over the earth that somehow won't seem to stop spinning, won't seem to slow down. She'd love to have someone to talk to. Someone to understand. But they wouldn't. So instead she talks about how she really hopes the boy with the green eyes from her 6th period will ask her to the school dance on Monday and how she really wants a black range rover someday. A someday she hopes will never happen. They wouldn't understand how she's feeling even if they tried so she continues on with fake conversations to tide everyone over.

When she walks the halls she smiles. And when she's with her friends she laughs. She doesn't try hard to put up a facade against her friends because she knows none of them will ever pay close enough attention to her to know that's she's not alright. That her smile is only on her lips and not in her eyes. That her laugh is fake and rattles her body with sadness every time she has to cough it up for a funny joke the boy with the blue eyes just told. They'll never know what's going on in her mind.

She goes home everyday and takes one of her moms sleeping pills and sleeps blissfully until the next morning when the sun rises again. Sleeping is better than feeling. Her mom would never even notice the pills were missing because she doesn't use them anymore. Instead she drinks a couple glasses of whiskey before she burns out on the couch every night after work until it becomes a habit. The next morning she walks to school and crosses the street with out looking both ways. She smokes a cigarette outside in the courtyard before first bell rings. At lunch she eats a string cheese and chugs a box milk. After school she picks a fight with a girl who she knows she has no chance against. When she gets home she takes a pain killer when she feels even the slightest bit of pain. At night she speeds down empty streets, runs red lights, and doesn't wear her seat belt, while driving her moms car. On the weekends she goes to party's and drinks and does whatever drugs she can find accessible to her and when she gets home she eats 3 week old casserole her mom made when she was sober for about 5 minutes.

Sometimes being suicidal doesn't mean wanting to slit your wrists or end it all by hanging yourself in your closet with a dusty old brown belt you found in the garage. Sometimes being suicidal means eating dairy because you know it makes your stomach hurt and for once you want to feel something other than sadness. Sometimes it's not looking both ways before you cross a busy street because maybe someday a car will be paying about as much attention as you are. Sometimes it's smoking cigarettes in the hopes that someday you'll get terminal cancer and finally die. Sometimes it's picking fights with people who are bigger than you because it sends a rush of adrenaline to your body and that's the most you've felt in weeks. Sometimes it's taking more aspirin than you need, because you hope someday your kidneys will give up just like you have. Sometimes it's speeding down an empty street in the hopes that one day your brakes will stop working. Sometimes it's running red lights because hopefully one day you'll get hit and killed. Sometimes it's not wearing seatbelts in the hopes that you fly through your windshield at 60 mph. Sometimes it's binge drinking because maybe one day your liver will go out. Sometimes it's eating bad food because hopefully you'll get food poisoning and die. Some times it's abusing drugs because there's a chance you'll accidentally overdose on something. It's not always jumping off of bridges and writing suicide notes. Sometimes it's just careless behavior. Sometimes it's just hoping that by coincidence you'll die.

But the brown eyed girl lives to be 34 and is finally living a healthy and happy life. She got the help she needed and with time recovered from her mental illness. She's happy. Something she hadn't been able to say in a very very long time. She has two dogs named Stevey and JuJu who are her sunshine on are a dark cloudy day and a loving husband who takes care of her when she has an off day. What a life. If someone would have told her 16 year old self that she would be this happy in the future she wouldn't believe it even for a second. And now she's expecting a baby girl. She knows this precious being might have to go through the same things she went through as a child but that doesn't matter because she promises to be there. To be the person she wished someone would have been for her. The big day finally arrives and tragically the brown eyed girls die during delivery.

Maybe if the 16 year old brown eyed girl would have know it'd be that easy she wouldn't have tried so hard. But at least she got a taste of happiness right?

So do you ask yourself now, what's the point?