At school,
she is a hard-working student and an avid reader. They call her smart, the poet, a good girl. She is friendly, striving to achieve, silent and loud at the same time, and helpful. They have seen her cry, but don't dare dig deeper, only able to go on what she says.
With her friends,
she's shy but at the same time outgoing, childish; the one
who agrees with everything even if deep down she doesn't. The nice one or the aggressive one, the bookworm and the writer. The one who cries for dumb reasons.They don't notice that she's starting to drift away and hate them.
But at home,
they tell her she's a rebel, stupid, a bitch, a slut. No matter what she achieves, she's a disappointment. They call her a bully, a cry baby, a lazy-ass, disgusting.Every day they tell her she's ugly, point out every flaw; compare her, tell her she isn't enough. They yell at her, they hit her, they emotionally abuse her.
Some give comfort when she asks for it, but other than that, they don't see it. They don't recognize her plea for help hidden behind the words, "I'm fine. I'm just tired." She acts like everything is okay, tries to be strong and look like nothing is happening. So far, she's done a great job.
No one suspects anything.
Everything changes when she's alone.
Closing the door to her room, she shuts out the world. She turns up the volume, blasting the speakers so no one will hear her. Then she let's it take over her, the pain, the agony, the anger. She screams her hate towards her room, all her barriers come down and she let's the tears slip freely from her eyes.
Sobs wrack her body as she wraps her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth while trying to hold on to her sanity. She remembers every tear she cried, all the pain she felt, the number of blades she set against her wrist; how she tried getting drunk just so she could forget. But most of all the thoughts; the deadly thoughts which never leave her.
Lying in her bed, she is curled up in ball, hugging herself; they think she does it because she's cold, but really it's her way of holding herself together. Her voice cracks with every word, praying to God, for a miracle, for someone to save her. Then she buries herself under the covers, along with her emotions.
Eventually, she escapes for few hours; Night after night, falling asleep with tears streaked across her face and hoping to wake up to a new reality.
She is hurt and refuses to trust. She is tired of lying to everyone and to herself. She is broken.
She wants to die.
She is me.
YOU ARE READING
When the Silence is Broken
Poesía*Originally called Unspoken Thoughts* Here is a collection of unspoken thoughts as poems and written works. Pretty much any piece of writing I have that isn't necessarily a novel. Some sad, happy, others angry and upset. It is your choice to read t...
