Silver Tears

1: The Depressed

If you are 100% against bullying (Whether it's cyber, verbal, physical or emotional) I advise you to read this book

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No body understands what's going on inside my heart. Even if they did know there was no way they could help repair it-- It's chattered into a thousand pieces-- so small that not even the best could fix it.

There was only one thing on my mind but mentioning it would be like running barefoot through broken glass...

The whole world was pointing fingers at me. Falsely accusing me of their failures, pains and heartbreaks.

Every day I cry. I cry my silver tears that run gently down my cheeks, streaking them like paintbrush on a canvas.

In the beginning I was so positive about life. I was hopeful, and happy then suddenly I woke up and everything just disappeared like throwing a rock through a glass window. My world was now dark, gloomy and miserable.

The sunshine didn't even make a difference.

Everything was just dark and sour... So sour.

I had replaced my whole wardrobe. All my colourful brands were now dull.

All that ever caught your eye was grey, white and black...

My bedroom had also changed. The purple walls were now plain white, the flamboyant curtains were now black to block the sunlight, the bedsheets were dark. The wall above my headboard has pencil marks on it. Each mark represented how many times I'd cried, how many scars I've received. In total there were One-Hundred and Eighty four.

My parents refused to move to another place to start a new life. My father had moved to Pittsburgh for a job and I was stuck with my mother who acted as if I didn't exist.

I became so so so depressed that I was caused myself pain. I cut myself, bit myself-- I did anything that would make me feel pain.

My hands had ugly scars and I decided to keep them that way. So that if I ever did make it to being a fully grown adult I could tell my children all about this day.

Truth was I knew I never could make it. I didn't plan to, even my family accepted that. I was in such a state of depression that I was probably not going to make my eighteenth birthday...

I had tried everything to bring back the light. I spoke to a therapist, a doctor, a pastor, a priest, an elder woman and even my last friend who abandoned me but nothing worked. I was forever drowning in a never ending pool-- A black pool of pain.

It was as if a vampire had come one night and decided to suck the joy out of me. My world was now dull and miserable. All the light was gone...

I looked at myself everyday in the mirror but on this particular day it was different. I had a black jacket on, the hoodie covered my head, my long blonde hair streaked with highlights lay on my shoulder. The hoodie casted a shadow through my pale face, my irises a dark brown and my lips pale and dry.

I didn't care about my looks. As long as I was wearing black I was fine.

In the doorway, mother kissed my brother and sister goodbye before they skipped happily to the school bus. Julian was only nine and Barbara was six. They saw the world like everyone else-- Sunshine, bright and happy.

Mother didn't even meet my eyes and I didn't care. I wasn't going to waste breath talking to her.

I sat behind Julian and Barbara and looked outside the window. I didn't see the world like everyone else, to me the world was dull, lacking colour.