It was like starting to slip down a slippery-dip: there was a point where you could still stop yourself. However, in my case? Ha. That point was passed a long time ago.
I’m talking about the point where everything goes down-hill, the point where all you want to do is cry, the point where all you want to do is die.
Moving to a new school was horrible, the first eight weeks I had no one to talk to, I was an outsider, a loner, a shadow; walking around but never really seen. But that passed; I got myself some friends, wacky just like how I used to be, just like I was before everything went south. Everything was fine for that year; everything. Nothing was wrong; I was happy and enjoying life and being fifteen; but then it all went down the metaphorical drain.
My second year at the new school was hell; almost literally. My hair felt like it was always being pulled, my teeth always grinding, my eyes always overflowing with tears. My body always covered in blood.
I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to lose him. I never wanted to lose her. I never wanted to lose them. I wanted peace. I wanted silence. I wanted darkness.
I wanted death.
How did everything end up like this you ask? I’ll tell you how.
The start of the year was fine. I had love interests in others; others had love interests in me. One boy was persistent though; never backed down, always annoyed me, he was always there. I hadn’t past the point then, I was still at the top of the slippery-dip; holding on with all my might.
We got into a relationship eventually; me and the boy. At first it was good, for maybe the first two months, then he started ignoring me. I thought I had done something wrong. I feared I wasn’t good enough; I feared imperfection.
He wasn’t happy; I blamed myself.
I wasn’t pretty enough; I wasn’t smart enough; I wasn’t happy enough; I wasn’t with him enough; I wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t good enough.
I ended it. The relationship stopped. He moved on and was like he used to be; I couldn’t move on and fell into an even deeper hole. We still talked, we were still friends, still in the same group.
He got a girlfriend.
That’s when I passed the point. That’s when I slid down the slippery-dip; when I fell into the ocean; when my old self drowned. And out walked morbid-little-emo-girl-with-a-severe-depression-level. I cried myself to sleep every night; sometimes the tears would go on for what seemed like forever. I would destroy myself; my skin; my body. I would deface it with long, deep and straight gashes. My waist, hips, legs, wrists, sides and even sometimes my chest would be littered with weeping lines; covered with drips of what looked like light satin paint.
We got back together. Two weeks later.
Talked about living together; having a family together.
Then I cheated.
He was heartbroken; I hadn’t meant to make him so vulnerable.
I kept destroying myself; inside and out.
I starved myself. I sliced myself. I couldn’t stop myself.
I lost my friends. I got bullied.
I was told I was a ‘shit friend’, an ‘attention seeker’, a person who wasn’t ‘literally depressed’. I went back to being a nobody.
I was the bitch that ruined it all.
The ONE person who stayed by me the entire time was my twin. My sister. My best friend.
She was like me in every way; she thought how I did; we needed each other; we needed someone to understand us; in all our darkness. To me, she was that one person. To her, I was that one person.
My boyfriend had changed his personality four times by now. From being the sweet innocent boy I’d fallen in love with, to the boy who I couldn’t understand, to the sexual deviant I’d accidentally turned him into, and finally to the distant, less sexual (by so much), uncommunicative boy who said he loved me but flirted with other girls and constantly forgot about me. See, by this point, I didn’t care anymore. I was failing school, constantly thinking up new ways to kill myself and trying to carry them out, oh, and let’s not forget crying until nothing felt real anymore; like I was just a lifeless doll.
After school finished 2012; he had run; he couldn’t take waking up to my unconscious body anymore. She had killed herself; she couldn’t take living anymore. I was pregnant; after the baby was born I gave her to my mother and father; a do over. Someone to replace what I had become, someone to grow up; be happy and live until they naturally died.
Not long after, I killed myself.
This is from the grave. This is why I died.
I slipped down the slipper-dip; I went past the point where I could stop myself.
My daughter looks just like me; green-grey-blue eyes, light mousy brown long hair; short fingers and small feet. Except she’s like her grandmother; she loves colours.
She’s everything I wasn’t.
