What Lies Within

Life's Complexities

A couple of weeks after Mr. Brooks raped me; I became a high-school dropout. I actually had nothing better to do with my life anyways; I was just one of those people placed in the world as a mistake. A mistakes don’t deserve the best right? After all, a mistake comes from doing something wrong, and my parents clearly did something wrong. I became even more depressed, to the point where I changed my look. My waist length dark brown hair was now black, and shoulder-length and I now had bangs to cover both of my eyes. I also lost plenty of weight, if it was even possible. I was a fifteen year old girl who weighed eighty-six pounds. And did I feel like gaining weight; no not all. Food started to look disgusting to me; truly disgusting. I will look at a cheeseburger or a milkshake and not comprehend how people will look at that, or even consume it. I changed from the popular girl into the depressed chick. I was nothing, I became nothing and I’m still nothing and I don’t think I will ever be anything. I became so distant from the Jordyn Parker that everyone else knew, that it actually became a tinted memory. I knew that Jordyn was no longer Jordyn; Jordyn was a high-school dropout. It became to the point where I love you were cold words, and if I said it to myself I knew it was a lie, I knew that if I looked in the mirror on a daily basis all I would see is a girl who bashed the world; a girl who didn’t know who she was. And in a way, those thoughts molded me and engraved into my soul; almost as if I was making a promise in my own blood on stone; and that’s what I did, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be anything in life, that I was nothing but a depressed high-school dropout and that’s all I’ll ever be.

                I started cutting myself more; it was until the spaces on my body were no longer vacant but full with the pain that others caused. My body was a wounded vessel, a wounded heart, and a wounded soul. My body could be categorized as the living dead, because I was on the verge of spiritual death. AAH! Spiritual death; my soul and mind were on the verge of death. How lovely? And at this point, even though it hasn’t been far from my pain, I honestly don’t believe it will ever get to the point where I can look back and say I made it to the light, or made it to become someone.

                And slowly I was getting to verge of my spiritual death, it felt as if every time I cut myself my spirit would just leave and not return for a while, and as crazy as it sounds, it’s absolutely true, I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I could describe the feeling. I felt as if my body was no longer mine, but under the control of something else of someone else, possibly a spirit, but not the good kind I read about in books, but the demonic kind that would stare at you and slowly eat away ever bit of happiness you had. I officially came to the conclusion that was happening to me, my happiness was being eaten away, and all weirdness and craziness and insanity I actually enjoyed it, it gave me some type of new happiness.

                But while cutting myself, I analyze my life to see what pushed me to the point I am now, what driven me to depression and suicide. It’s something beyond my parent’s death, something beyond Mr. Brooks raping me, it’s something beyond a spiritual matter and life that makes me different from everyone else, and be different from others in the “unique way” I am only tend not to be a part of life’s simplicities but life’s complexities.