Journal Of A Survivor

Four

For the first week after the accident. She laid in bed. She was what a doctor would call clinically depressed. She would sleep through out the entire day and night. She never got up to eat or anything. Through out that whole week she never spoke and all she did was cry. People would ask her questions but she'll just respond by nodding her head, Yes or No. That whole entire week she was supposed to go to school but she didn't. She wasn't sure if she had the motivation to go. She did worry about her grades though. Next week is the last week before finals. And even though she was worried it still wasn't much motivation for her to go.

She hated being around her family. She felt so ashamed. She didn't like being pitied either. Every time her family would look at her she sensed the pity. She sensed the shame. They were ashamed of her. She couldn't find her voice. She wanted to speak, but the words never came out. All she did was stay silent. She never left her room. She didn't even want to get up from bed. She didn't even listen to music. Music is her life. It was her escape. But she didn't have the urge to listen to her favorite artists. She just laid in bed with no will to even live life.

She was a zombie. Her pale face and hollow eyes showed how much pain she was in. The suicidal thoughts never left her head. She always contemplated on doing so. But the curiosity of how her future will end up got the best of her and she always tried to put those suicidal thoughts away. Even though she had every reason to give up, there was something inside of her urging her to keep on fighting. That little voice in her head always encouraged her. Sometimes that voice barely came out as a whisper, but she still heard it.

She did everything she could to keep that little light of hope burning inside of her; alive. She always said even though that light was tiny, as long it was there she will keep fighting. Despite the fact that light of hope was there, she couldn't help but feel the way she did. She felt so destroyed and broken.

Her mother didn't help the situation. Instead of her mother helping her through this it made it worse. Her mother didn't have one single nurturing bone in her. Her mother was cruel and mean. Her mother hurt her even more.

One day of that very depressing week her mother barged in when she was sleeping.

"How can you just lay in bed after what you did? I still can't believe you had the fucking balls to do this. Why don't you just kill yourself." Her mother spoke. She began crying. She coulnd't believe the words coming out of her own mothers mouth. The harsh words just kept flowing out. She couldn't handle it anymore.

"Leave me the fuck alone." She finally yelled. She finally had spoke. Her mother left her room. But she couldn't shake the words her mother told her. She wanted to kill herself. She wanted to desperately end the pain. But something held her back from doing so. She didn't know if it was the idea of ending her life at the young age of eighteen or if she was just to emotionally and physically drained to get up and do so. Maybe a little of both.

She tried desperately to cheer her self up. But she couldn't. She couldn't find anything worthy of making her smile or laugh. She didn't know how much she could handle. She didn't know how much more she could hold on to. Or if she should.

How can someone hold on so tight, when their arms are shaking and are sore from holding on to long. She felt exactly like that but she still held on for dear life. This girl had a fire in her, and with everything that has happened its like a bucket of water was poured onto that fire. Despite the water diminshing the flames. Somehow a tiny a very tiny flame still blazed inside of her.

But who knew for how long.