I'm all alone in my room, the soft sound of the rain on the apartment building is soothing. Its not unusual for it to rain here, in New York. My mom, Laura Wells, is at work. She works from six to nine, sometimes even longer. She never knows what is really going on in my life, she thinks I'm just a brown eyed, brown haired, fifteen year old girl who likes the colour black. But really I'm going through some hard times, I have no friends, I'm depressed, and I tend to isolate myself.
I knew from the minute we moved in that there was something dark... maybe even evil. About a month after we moved in I started to hear things, like thuds. At night it was the worst. It started to progress, I started to hear voices saying my name, "Nya, Nya, Nya!" I guess you could say I have company at night, only there demons.
I know this because they told me. This sounds crazy, I know, but its true. They tell me if I don't cut myself they will take me away. I started out only once a week, then it turned into every other day, now I do it everyday. I have never told anyone, I want to but I'm scared. Maybe I wouldn't be so scared if I actually had friends.
Today my mom came in and noticed some blood on the carpet. I lied to her, I said that I got a bad paper cut. I felt bad. She asked nothing else and walked out. Why cant she actually care? Ask how my day was, am I ok, need help? Anything!! Because of this I isolate myself. I cant help it, I just shut down.
My life went downhill when we moved in. I feel as though the demons overtake my life, they play games on me like "Make Nya hurt herself." When will this ever stop?
After a year of the demons tormenting me, I hat to tell someone. I turned to my mom. I worked up enough courage one night, I walked into the kitchen where my mom was working on dinner. I sat down at the table, she turned around and asked what was going on. I told her I needed to tell her something. as she sat down next to me, I noticed the concerned look on her face. I told her it was important, she needed to listen and not say anything. I started out by showing her my scars. The look of concern turned into fear. After I was done, she said nothing, I looked at her. "Say something!" She said it was all in my head, that I'm purposely doing this. I couldn't believe it! I was crushed.
I know she only wanted to help, but a months worth of therapy is not going to help. Therapy isn't going to help PERIOD! After a month of therapy, my body had had enough. I was tired of fighting, fighting back the tears. I was done.
My mom found me curled up on my bed. My body had given up. My heart was sad and let go. I cant do anything now... goodbye... forever.
