What If?

The song Pain by Three Days Grace describes me perfectly. “Pain without love, Pain I can’t get enough, Pain, I like it rough, because I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.” I’m addicted to pain. My tenth grade year I was empty, friendless, it felt like all life had been sucked out of me. My grades sucked, not because I wasn’t smart, I just didn’t want to do anything. I had no motivation or energy to do anything. I found out what love was about, my eighth grade year. I fell in love with a boy a grade below me. He was everything to me. Cute, funny, nice, and a friend, he was perfect. His perfection took hold on me though. The way his hands explored the depths of my body got to a point where that’s all it was. I felt like that’s all he wanted. All perfect guys seem to want that. I actually wanted it at the time, but I felt wrong and dirty. He wanted to have sex, but we never got the chance. All the pressure I was going through at school caused me to break up with him. Even though we got back together when I was in ninth grade, it didn’t last. It wasn’t the same and when I broke up with him he laughed in my face and then started dating one of my friends. Guess what? They had sex. They are no longer together. Sometimes I think about what if it was I. I look at him now and wonder if he ever thinks about me still and what we would be like if we were still together. Truth is I would not give him another chance because I don’t like him anymore. He’s just a friend. I will never fall in love with him again. Breakups are hard. Especially when you are struggling every second and then you lose someone you love. The only person that I felt loved by was gone. I had only one escape, starting in tenth grade. A pocketknife. I used it to cut myself. My arms at first but they became too noticeable so I went to my legs. That was a big mistake. Lets just say when your legs are covered in cuts and you wear shorts people notice. Like my parents for example, they figured out my dirty little secret. My father took away the knife and asked me if I needed help. Of course I told him no, even though I probably did. My mother just yelled at me. She said I only did it because I didn’t get my way all the time. After they found out, if I got mad about not getting my way she would say “Why don’t you go cut yourself some more?” Well let’s just say I stopped for a really long time, prove that it wasn’t just because I didn’t get my way. I had other reasons why I did it; they all stopped my junior year. I am very close to becoming full of life again. The pain isn’t as bad.