We Found Love In A Hopeless Place

We Found Love In Hopeless Place

Word Count 2,142

I had never thought I'd be this person; the person that has to see a shrink, the person that couldn't function properly anymore. I never thought I'd be that girl; the one who people talked about behind her back. I never thought I would by so mentally unstable that I couldn't pin point where it all started.

I never thought I would be the girl who almost killed herself.

But here I was, sitting uncomfortably in the therapist's office as my hand lay on my stomach, my nails biting through my shirt into my abdomen as I gripped at it. It was a bad habit I'd gotten into, holding an arm against my stomach because I felt insecure— clawing at my stomach because I'd always hated the way it looked.

There was something wrong with me. I was the girl with an eating disorder. I was the girl with anorexia.

Did I ever think it would happen to me? No. Who would?

It's like shadow— it creeps up on you until you are submerged in darkness and you can't find the light switch.

That's how I felt. Like I was searching for the light but somehow kept stumbling along the way.

I never wanted to be this way.

But now that I am, I couldn't imagine it any other way.

I've been like this for at least three years maybe more; I was never really sure when exactly it started.

Maybe it was when I slept with that guy my sophomore year of highschool and my friends accused me of being a slut.

Maybe it was when I continued to sleep with any guy that asked for it and everybody called me a whore.

Maybe it was when the guys that I had once slept with called me ugly and fat.

Maybe it was when my little sister was ashamed of me, when I had always been her role model.

But most likely, it was when I heard the whispers in the hallways about myself. No one really said it to my face. They act like teenagers; they aren't going to say it to your face.

Maybe I should have fought back.

Maybe I should have told some one.

I did neither.

I took it by myself, all my friends had ditched me, and my parents were too self-involved to ever notice me. And my little sister, Angela, gave up on me too.

I bottled everything inside.

I stopped eating.

I didn't slit my wrists, I didn't want to be labeled emo as well as skank and whore.

People are cruel.

Life sucks.

So you ask: what's the point?

I didn't know either.

I didn't find out until I turned eighteen. Three months ago.

His name was Colson, and I met him on the subway.

I was the teary eyed stick figured girl with disgustingly pale skin and sunken in eyes. He was the jackass who was annoyed at me for crying.

To be honest, the first time we spoke he was a complete asshole to me. But that was what made me remember him. He didn't look at me with pity or disgust. He looked at me with pure annoyance.

"Could you knock it off?" the guy asked, glaring at me indiscreetly.

I was taken slightly aback, having never been treated so upfront like that. But it was the subway, and apparently people didn't give a fuck about the others.