Searching for her

Understood?

I'm Emma. I'm 13. And this is my story. 

I've lived life in the shadows for as long as I can remember. In 1st grade I knew my dad loved me. In 1st grade I still hated when he came home from work, because I always did something wrong. Someone always messed up. He looked into your eyes with all the hate he could muster. I may have had a dad... but it's tormenting to have your very existence threatened by someone who's supposed to love you, someone who's supposed to be there for you. In 2nd grade I screamed into my pillow until I couldn't breathe, and I cried for my mother because she never hurt me. She never scared me. In 2nd grade I had all the friends I needed, but all of them were as fake to me as I was to them. In 3rd grade I had to hold my breath because I wasn't aloud to cry. In 3rd grade I found my bottle, the bottle that held my feelings. The bottle that held my hurt. The bottle that held me. In 4th grade I realized it wasn't worth it to hide who you are, because they won't like you anyway. In 4th grade I learned what love was, and how torturous it is.  In 5th grade I became self conscious, and anxious because my shoulders were too broad, my teeth were too misshaped, my nose was too large, my hips weren't curvy enough, my breasts weren't big enough. In 5th grade I found out how self hatred felt. Who my worst enemy was. That I can't escape the pain, because the faucet of it is my head. In 6th grade I started fresh... by fresh I mean empty. No friends, no trust, no understanding. In 6th grade I was shy, and awkward because I never understood how to make a real friend. In 7th grade I stopped smiling with my teeth because they were disgusting. In 7th grade I lost everyone and had to start new again. No friends, no love, no me. In 7th grade I figured out the only one who gets me is music. The only thing that understands. The only damn thing I can relate to. Now, the summer before 8th grade I am madly in love with a boy 4 years older than me, I long for my virginity, I wish for more cigarettes, and I hate everything about myself. I want to die but so much is dragging me along. I can't give up on my mom... not knowing she's just as suicidal and miserable as me. I'm the string keeping her here. If I cut it we both go down. I can't give up on him... knowing we've kept each other alive for this long. Knowing he wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. I can't give up on my future. I can't give up knowing everything I've ever dreamed of might be waiting for me. Knowing I could be happy. I know I'm depressed and I know I'm terrified. But I've lived life in the shadows, thinking just because they say so, they understand. That I don't need help because this is normal. That I'm not special because everyone feels this. Calling the suicide prevention lifeline has become so natural that even though I'm not supposed to know their names, i recognize their voices and named them. Cheryl, Jaxson, and Rosa are my regulars. It's surprising remembering people lie. Not everyone hurts this much. But again, what can you do? Are you going to give me more medicine? More opportunities to overdose? Therapy sessions? Where people tell me how I feel and how to fix myself? You can't do shit. Sometimes when something is broken- no. Destroyed, it's easier to replace it and throw it to the floor then to work on something that costs more to mend then it's even worth. Every day my heart pounds at my chest, reminding me I'm still here in this hell. Every day I look in the mirror and pick at my face and look into myself and see this monster pouring from my skin and intoxicating my heart. My head corrupts my thoughts and opinions and pulls me apart from the inside out. And it isn't content with itty bitty Emma. It spreads and poisons the people closest to me. But he's all I know. He's all I remember. He's the only thing that hasn't failed me. He hasn't forgotten me. So I let the darkness tear me and my loved ones to shreds because it's better than doing it alone. I love when they're hurt because they come to me. They need me. I am him. I am the monster. But it's okay.

Don't worry. You can't help me so focus on you, forget me. Forget my existence. Don't cry for me. I'll find me. I'll search. She's buried deep, and I don't know what she looks like, but I'll find her. (As long as I don't die first.)