(TRIGGER WARNING!!!! In this chapter, along with many others, subjects are not acceptable for all readers. Viewing discretion advised greatly.)
:--------------------:
"I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy... 'cause I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low.... any-way the wind blows, doesn't rea-lly mat-ter to me-e, to-o me."
I sang along to Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen while in the shower. My voice resonated against the shower walls in harmony. What I hadn't realized is I had accumulated an audience. About half the kids I lived with were outside the door, listening in awe to my voice. I had been told multiple times that my voice was good but I didn't think it went to this extent to where people would crowd the area and shit. I also had sung in this very shower before and hadn't gotten the same reaction then. When I got out o f the bathroom, I was engulfed by compliments. But then, the staff came up.
"Really Erik?!?! Do you really have to be such an attention whore? Like, really? You obviously sang loud enough for everyone to hear so they'd HAVE to compliment you!"
"It's really not that, I swear! I just sing loudly naturally! I don't mean to! I-"
"DON'T wanna hear it, Tranny! All you do is rub it in that you're different and then expect people not to make fun of you! Well, shit doesn't work that way! People are always going to be cruel.... ALWAYS! Get used to it, kid." The staff had a grin on his face, knowingly tormenting me and convincing me that life will always be that way, though not entirely true. In that moment though, I believed him completely.
------------------------------(THAT AFTERNOON)------------------------------
On the phone:
"NO! That's NOT FAIR!!!! You CAN'T MAKE ME STAY WITH THESE PEOPLE!!! It's AGAINST the LAW!! This is ABUSE!! I-"
"You can't get mad every single time someone is in any way critical of your voice! It's not even good anyway, so I don't blame them!" My social worker interrupted sternly.
"You haven't even HEARD me sing! And there not being CRITICAL, they're being outright MEAN! You're supposed to have my back! All you've done is make me seem like some SPOILED BRAT and I'm SICK OF IT! I can't be a spoiled brat if I've never been SPOILED before! You're an idiot!" I yelled into the phone, attracting a few people's unwanted attention.
----------------------------------
I knew what I had to do then and there. I had a razor in my pocket and it was time to use it. Maybe people will do something then?!?!?!? Maybe they'll realize there flaws and correct themselves for the next time they have a child complain about their living situation. Maybe then they wont victim-blame when they should be addressing the issue. I walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I pulled the blade from my pocket, my hands trembling. I was gonna finally get justice, if not for myself then for other foster kids. I pulled off my sweatshirt and looked at my bare wrists. Not for long, I thought to myself with a shudder. I was scared, for sure, but I knew this was the only way people would listen and be made aware. Before I am to do this, I must write something. I must reassure my friends that it was not their doing. I took out my notepad and pencil, knowing this would be my last entry.
The letter went something like this:
Dear Friends,
I just want you all to know that this, in fact, was not your fault. I was stuck, trapped, in an unhealthy situation and this was my only was of escape. I tried so hard to tell my Social Worker what was going on but she victim-blamed me the whole time. No matter what happened, whether it be being restrained for calling out a staff or being called names on a day to day basis. I was called by my birth sex rather than my pronouns, I was called only by my birth name, I was sexually assaulted, and I was a witness to a purposeful allergen contamination in which the young person did not make it. I tried to call the police but they wouldn't let me. They withheld the client phone on numerous occasions, and wouldn't allow me anywhere near a police officer, even restricting me from school. The one and only time they let me slip by, they accused me of lying because I wouldn't do my chores and wanted to get them in trouble. But now, I'm doing the one thing that will raise awareness of these terrible acts. It's funny how things only get better when someone commits suicide. That's why I ended my life. To raise awareness to the unfair violence foster youth are dealing with on an everyday basis. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but don't mourn my death, punish those responsible for it. I love you all so much!
Sincerely Yours,
Erik Baker
::----------------------------------------::
I dragged the blade down the middle of my wrist, leaving a deep vertical line of splitting muscle and pouring blood. I yelped, the pain causing me to slow my pace. I then took out the bottle of Ibuprofen and a canteen of water and one-by-one placed each pill on my tongue and washed it down my throat. I got to the last pill when my vision went spotty and I laid down in the bathtub. I took the paper, folded it, kissed it, and closed my eyes, hopefully to never open them again.
-----------(FLASHBACK)-----------
"Say it again! Do it!" The tall staff yelled, inching closer and closer to me.
"You're WRONG! You DISGUST me! You just threw that kid onto his bed, for what? For WHAT!?!?!?!?" I screamed the last part. "For wanting to take a FUCKING SHOWER!!!! That's what!"
"That's none of your business, faggot!" He retaliated quickly.
"OF COURSE IT'S MY BUSINESS!!! You HURT that kid for something as simple as wanting to SHOWER! You're-" Suddenly, I was thrown to the floor, smacking my head against the baseboard. I hadn't done anything to deserve this. I felt him pound his fist onto my head about four times before passing out.
YOU ARE READING
End or Beginning?
Teen FictionLife can really suck, especially for teen gay trans guy Erik Baker who has been living in the Massachusetts foster care system. A Senior in High School now, Erik emerges from the dark he's been drowning in for years. This story is VERY LOOSLEY based...
