Status: Never give up. You are enough.
No One Said It'd Be Easy.
Forty Six.
"Hey!"
-No response.
"Hi! I'm talking to you."
-No response.
"HEY! DON'T BE RUDE!"
"Shut the fuck up and LEAVE me ALONE."
"Rude."
-No response.
"Hey! Excuse me!!"
"You're annoying as hell. Leave me alone."
I already feel like I'm going to cry. I don't need some annoying kid pissing me off. I can't take it anymore. I put in my ipod and listen to the soothing music.
If you say something is wrong, I'll deny it but if you look in my eyes, you'll see the truth. You'll see that I'm not okay.
I see Rachele with her friends, happy and joyous. And I confess...I'm jealous. I wish I was happy like that. I wish I could be happy without worrying about school, friends, money, family. I wish I could have that.
Why can't I?
Why do I worry so much?
Instead, my depression is coming back. Slowly taking over, releasing the monsters from within.
Instead, I have two scratches on my wrist. I look at them constantly, I feel the pressure on them from my silly bands, ponytails, and bracelets. I stare at the tiny piece of spiral I cut off from a notebook and contemplate whether or not to do it again...I decide not to.
Not yet.
I read Caitie's note again. They're lyrics to Avril Lavigne's "Keep Holding On." As I read each word, I find myself humming the tune which goes along.
I'm calling out. No one hears me. At first, I don't realize I'm doing it. I don't feel the spiral pushing in my skin. I don't realize it until I see little spots of red emerging from under my skin, and my vision blurs from tears. But even after I realize what I'm doing, I don't stop. I keep going: tracing, re-tracing after each scratch, deeper each time.
Now they're fairly deep.
Now, I can't feel anything.
At lunch, I act hyper. I acted happy and carefree. I acted to avoid questions.
"Are you alright?"
"What's wrong?"
I act.
I'm never not acting unless it's on paper, like now.
I act so you don't ask.
Because when you ask, I remember.
When I remember, I feel.
When I feel, I want to cut, cry, scream.
So I act.
I'm an act.
Since my mom and Keith are in the Bahama's for four more days, I have to stay with my dad. Yesterday was Day One of Hell. He picked me up from school and not even five minutes together and he's already making me feel worthless, much like a penny.
Now I know how poor Abe Lincoln feels.
"Did you dye your hair? Why? Why would you dye your hair black? You look goth. Those shorts are too short. Why are you always crabby? Are you on your period? MeganMeganMeganMeganMegan."
He took me to my mom's so I could get my stuff. I unlocked the front door, walked in and broke down. I collapsed and started bawling. The kind where you should cover your mouth but I didn't. I was the only one in the house, I didn't feel the need to smother myself when it was unneeded. I'm not sure how to describe the sounds. It wasn't necessarily screaming but it was something close. I walked upstairs for my stuff, still crying and tried grabbing my bags but didn't have the strength. Instead, I sat in the middle of the hallway and kept crying. I got a text from Caitie, so I called her, still bawling. I'm sure I was hard to understand through my gasping breaths for air, but somehow Caitie knew. She told me to calm down before I started hyperventilating. I cried to her for at least ten minutes but Eric got mad and texted me to hurry. So I let Caitie go and proceeded with Day One of Hell.
I cried to sleep last night around 4am, thanks to sleeping pills otherwise I wouldn't have slept at all.
Two hours later, I awoke and returned to the real world and prepared myself for Day Two of Hell.
-No response.
"Hi! I'm talking to you."
-No response.
"HEY! DON'T BE RUDE!"
"Shut the fuck up and LEAVE me ALONE."
"Rude."
-No response.
"Hey! Excuse me!!"
"You're annoying as hell. Leave me alone."
I already feel like I'm going to cry. I don't need some annoying kid pissing me off. I can't take it anymore. I put in my ipod and listen to the soothing music.
If you say something is wrong, I'll deny it but if you look in my eyes, you'll see the truth. You'll see that I'm not okay.
I see Rachele with her friends, happy and joyous. And I confess...I'm jealous. I wish I was happy like that. I wish I could be happy without worrying about school, friends, money, family. I wish I could have that.
Why can't I?
Why do I worry so much?
Instead, my depression is coming back. Slowly taking over, releasing the monsters from within.
Instead, I have two scratches on my wrist. I look at them constantly, I feel the pressure on them from my silly bands, ponytails, and bracelets. I stare at the tiny piece of spiral I cut off from a notebook and contemplate whether or not to do it again...I decide not to.
Not yet.
I read Caitie's note again. They're lyrics to Avril Lavigne's "Keep Holding On." As I read each word, I find myself humming the tune which goes along.
I'm calling out. No one hears me. At first, I don't realize I'm doing it. I don't feel the spiral pushing in my skin. I don't realize it until I see little spots of red emerging from under my skin, and my vision blurs from tears. But even after I realize what I'm doing, I don't stop. I keep going: tracing, re-tracing after each scratch, deeper each time.
Now they're fairly deep.
Now, I can't feel anything.
At lunch, I act hyper. I acted happy and carefree. I acted to avoid questions.
"Are you alright?"
"What's wrong?"
I act.
I'm never not acting unless it's on paper, like now.
I act so you don't ask.
Because when you ask, I remember.
When I remember, I feel.
When I feel, I want to cut, cry, scream.
So I act.
I'm an act.
Since my mom and Keith are in the Bahama's for four more days, I have to stay with my dad. Yesterday was Day One of Hell. He picked me up from school and not even five minutes together and he's already making me feel worthless, much like a penny.
Now I know how poor Abe Lincoln feels.
"Did you dye your hair? Why? Why would you dye your hair black? You look goth. Those shorts are too short. Why are you always crabby? Are you on your period? MeganMeganMeganMeganMegan."
He took me to my mom's so I could get my stuff. I unlocked the front door, walked in and broke down. I collapsed and started bawling. The kind where you should cover your mouth but I didn't. I was the only one in the house, I didn't feel the need to smother myself when it was unneeded. I'm not sure how to describe the sounds. It wasn't necessarily screaming but it was something close. I walked upstairs for my stuff, still crying and tried grabbing my bags but didn't have the strength. Instead, I sat in the middle of the hallway and kept crying. I got a text from Caitie, so I called her, still bawling. I'm sure I was hard to understand through my gasping breaths for air, but somehow Caitie knew. She told me to calm down before I started hyperventilating. I cried to her for at least ten minutes but Eric got mad and texted me to hurry. So I let Caitie go and proceeded with Day One of Hell.
I cried to sleep last night around 4am, thanks to sleeping pills otherwise I wouldn't have slept at all.
Two hours later, I awoke and returned to the real world and prepared myself for Day Two of Hell.