Miscellaneous

Unstable

(I'm thinking of turning this into a whole book.. Comment and tell me if I should!)

There they were again. Staring at me. Look away, I begged silently. Nothing to look at except a mountain of a girl.

Ever since I moved to Florida, I was teased, bullied, torn apart at the seams by the populars. They called me Incredible Hulk, Freak, Fatso, Nerd. I tried to be strong, tried to remember my old friends from Rhode Island, who were just like me; weirdos, but in a good way. We kept each other strong. Without them, I fell apart.

The populars were relentless. It's like they're on a mission to get me, to break me down. My pen scurried across the paper. I shouldn't be doing this.

Think about it. Think about them.

I've tried this before. I was unstable. I needed to be controlled, to protect myself and others. I was a freak, and the whole world knew it. When I moved to Florida, I was bubbly, cheerful, always singing one song or another, a straight- A student. Now, I hide my huge face, never say a word, and I'm almost failing every class.

I dug the pen into the paper. I felt like I was writing with my own blood. I needed to stop.

But for years, all I've had was neglectful parents and populars beating me down. Every word they

said was right. I was fat. I was stupid. I was a freak.

I was unstable.

I found myself writing that word more and more. Unstable. The perfect word. I try to be that bubbly girl on the inside, but it's not working. When I tried to smile, I went insane. For a couple of months, I was in an asylum.

That hadn't helped the bullying problem.

Unstable. That was me. The girl who's dying inside from every word they say. Suddenly I felt like I should be doing this, truly. It wasn't my fault.

It's not my fault I'm unstable.

I wrote more quickly now, possesed by the devil brewing inside of me. Unstable. Freak.

I should act like a good little girl, shouldn't I? Shut my mouth, listen to the adults, get better. But no. There's no saving me now.

I slammed my pen on the table. It was done. It was finally time for me to leave. My hands shook, and I placed three yellow flowers by my note.

The once mommy's-little-girl was about to do what she had wanted to for years.

Time to say goodbye.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I really don't want to be writing this, and if you're reading this, it's already too late. I'm so sorry I had to do this. But this will help me and everyone around me.

Don't cry for me. I chose to do this, and if you're going to stain this paper with tears, then you should've noticed when I got all Ds, when I came home with puffy eyes every day, when I cried myself to sleep. Don't cry, because it's already too late.

Why did I do this? Because, every day I was beaten down by the people you wanted me to befriend, torn apart by the very people you introduced me to. Don't cry, because this is your fault.

If at least once you had asked me what was wrong, would've listened, you could've fixed this. You could've prevented the loss of your only daughter. But no, Dad, work and cheating on Mom is much more important than your little baby. No, Mom, going to the bar every night is more important than the girl who you raised.

I could say I was a victim of bullying, of neglect. It would be true. For years, you didn't care. You never cared. Sell my stuff for drug mony. I don't care. You ruined my pathetic excuse for a life, so go ahead and ruin yours.

You could've stopped this, but you're too heartless.

Goodbye. I'm glad I never have to see you again.

-Unstable