Poor language and broken hearts
Faith Cortright Hlebica, Period 6
9/24/14
How long could I wait for us to be okay? I couldn’t possibly be the only one that’s upset over this, could I? You needed me too… Right? If what you had always said to me was true, shouldn’t you miss me now? I remember that before any of this began, before I met her, I felt terrible. I always felt the clinging of those thoughts in the back of my head like a tumor. I hated myself. I couldn’t see why anyone could ever love me or care for me. The worst part was, I had no idea why. I just hated everything about myself and it was horrible. Living each and every day knowing how much the people around you want you gone. The comment’s they would utter as I passed or they’d shout to me. It was like being cut open every day and bleeding out my feelings but none of the stuff I did helped. I would eat, so much. And then I’d get sick because of the problems I had with my stomach and that equaled another trip to the hospital. I’d scratch my arms and legs continuously until it burned, but I wouldn’t stop until the marks were to be there for weeks. I’d rub an eraser on my arms and legs as well, until I bled and felt like I was going to vomit from how much it hurt. I would cry so much, and for so long I would pass out because my body couldn’t take the weight of me or my emotional baggage. I would have panic attacks and I’d hide it from people. Sitting in a class room full of people, and not being able to tell them that you feel like you’re going to pass out or throw up is terrifying. I knew how bad it could get. I could have done all those ‘other’ things I thought about and the only reason I didn’t was because I couldn’t. I was scared of pain. Scared of what was after that. That churning in my stomach I’d feel when I looked at my arms later in life and saw scars, how my family would be angry with me, or even ignore the fact I was broken. I acted as happy as I could every day to hide it from them, so they wouldn’t know how badly their words got to me. Or even their actions. It wasn’t only the popular kids, or just the kids that didn’t like me. It droned on with my “friends” too. With my guy pals reminding me how fat I was. Or just someone telling me they don’t want to hang out with me during school... Or when I’d look for someone to cry to and no one cared. I was alone. The multitude of breakdowns I’ve had within these short couple of years is enough to make a sociopath cry. I couldn’t control my anger, nor could I control my sadness. I would try to go to the counselors but I knew they too would blow me off because no one could care for me unless they were lying to my face. And I couldn’t take anymore lies. Not from adults who I expected to help me, to do the right thing. Though I knew not every adult would care. As far as I knew, none of them did. They just came to work for their pay check and the kids were the worst part of their gig. I was alone for so long. But when I met her, everything wasn’t as bad. She thought I was perfect and I loved her so much for that. I needed her and I could swear she needed me too. But I let my emotions get in the way. I felt my sister wrap her arms around me, and pull me into a tight hug; her brown hair in my face. I instantly felt the tears flowing out of my eyes and my chest tightened. I hated crying. I hated it. It was selfish and weak, and I had no right after all I had done. Why was I so stupid? If I could wrap my puny brain around the fact that sometimes things don’t work out for you and when that happens you can’t get upset you just have to push past it, and then maybe I could stop falling farther and farther into the depression that was beginning to accumulate. I was an idiot, and I wanted to die. I mean I really want to die right now, and it feel like I’m dying from this pain in my chest so there’s one thing I’m good at. I thought my tears were going to flood the entire room, I just couldn’t stop sobbing, I gasped and heaved and nothing was so painful in my life. My fake messy blonde hair kept getting in my mouth and my eyes and it tasted like my shampoo which made me feel even sicker than I already was. I just wanted this whole thing to end.
