Happy Anniversary.

I ignored the total of 25 texts I received in that class, instead focusing on talking to the person I really wanted to talk to.
I totally get you on the not living thing, but that doesn't ever mean you get to give up. Ever. I haven't, so you can't. And I'm sorry about your brother. Do you mind me asking how he died? Jack had responded.
My teeth scraped against my chapped lips. It was still hard for me to even type it out. Why was I even considering telling this guy? I haven't even known him for 24 hours yet. I sighed, giving the simplest answer I could.
Suicide.
Once I sent that, I got back to my work. I made the deal with myself that if I did five more problems, I could check for messages. Of course, the five I chose to do seemed to be the five hardest ones. They took me nearly twenty minutes to finish, and by then my hands were shaking in nervousness to see his reaction.
I'm not even going to say how ironically fucked up that is; I'm sure you know.
I do know, but I can't help it. I finished the rest of the questions on my paper before handing it in. The rest of the problems were fairly simple and only took me about ten minutes to complete. So, with the last fifteen minutes of class, I spent my time messaging with Jack.
I get it. My bro tried to pull something like that a few years ago. He survived, but he ran off the day he turned 18, so it's kinda like he's dead to my family.
I'm sorry. What else was I supposed to say? I didn't know, so I just sent it as is.
Don't apologize. I've kind of gotten over it...hey, you didn't hurt yourself last night, did you? He asked, changing the obviously uncomfortable subject. My stomach lurched and I felt nauseous. I didn't want to let Jack down. Such a stupid fuckup.
Before I could formulate a response, I received another message. I understand if you did. You made it clear that last night was pretty difficult and I know how hard it is to resist that sometimes. As long as you're okay now.
My fingers smoothed down my soft hair and I bit the nail of my thumb as I decided how to answer him.
Yeah, I did...I'm sorry.
Again, don't apologize. I'm gonna help you get away from that habit, okay? Here's my number: text me. I couldn't help the blinding smile that appeared when I saw the ten digits that made up Jack's phone number. So he did live in Baltimore; we had the same area code.
Quickly, I saved his number and sent him a text. Hey, It's Alex! I sent him first so he would know it was me. But, good luck with trying to get me to stop. I've been trying to stop for years.
Jack's reply was only seconds after I sent the second text. How long have you been doing this?
...3 1/2 years, about.
Alex! Hasn't anyone ever called you out on it or made you stop? Vic's face flashed in my mind, but I ignored it.
Not really. I told you, no one cares about me too much.
That's bullshit. I care and I'm sure there are others. Me and whoever else cares to help are going to help you get better. Remember, it can't be bad forever... I hated it when people said stuff like that. The cliche "It gets better" made me so angry. There comes a point where it's not just a phase anymore. I've been depressed for more than four years, and I can't really see it getting better anytime soon. I just know it's going to be something that haunts me for the rest of my life.
I DON'T CARE, OKAY? I just...I can't do this. Everyone around me was beginning to pack up their belongings to migrate to their next class, but I couldn't move a muscle in fear that if I did, I would lose it in front of everyone.
Do you have Skype? What?
Yes...
Skype with me after school. My Skype name is the same as my tumblr url. I want to talk to you face to face...or computer screen to computer screen.
Okay. I was the last to reply for the rest of the day. My stomach was already beginning to twist in knots as I stood up and left class, discreetly wiping the few angry tears that had escaped from my eyes.
~~~~~
I could ignore Vic all I wanted in class, but as soon as the bell rang, he was standing at my classroom door, his face hard. When he saw my tears, however, he softened a little. "Alex, look, I just want to apologize-"
"Don't worry about it." I whispered and continued walking, not looking back to see if he was walking with me.
"Wait!" I rolled my eyes. Was Vic ever this annoying before? "You're upset." He stated.
"Don't worry about it, Vic." I repeated through clenched teeth. If I didn't stop talking now I was going to say something I'd regret in one way or another.
He scoffed; frustration was clear on his face. "You know what, Alex? Whatever. Come talk to me when you're ready." He stalked off...right up to where Mike was standing.
I saw their lips moving in a serious conversation, but I couldn't hear. Before I could get close enough to hear any of their conversation, they split up, Vic walking away to his next class, while Mike stood glaring at me across the hall.
I started walking away from him, but Mike's legs were longer than mine and his long stride caught up to me easily. "Hey, Worthles! How you feeling today?" He asked me in a syurpy voice sarcastically.
"Fuck off, Mike. I can't deal with you today."
"That sucks for you, then, because you know I'm not going anywhere." He harshly grabbed my left forearm and I had to refrain from screaming.
"Please, let me go." I knew I was crying, but I couldn't be bothered to care about them at the moment. All that matter was getting Mike's hands off my flaming cuts.
"Shut the fuck up, Alex." He growled and pulled me away. I had no choice but to follow.
We ended up in the janitors closet. "Take off your shirt." He commanded. My heart caught in my throat. What the hell was he going to do to me?
He must have noticed my hesitation and fearful face. "Oh, please. You're too ugly for me to rape you or anything like that. Now take it off before I take it off for you." He was starting to become impatient, and I didn't want to find out what happened when Mike didn't get what he wanted.
His eyes immediately went to the large white bandage on my arm. He smirked. "What happened there, Alex?" Was he actually enjoying this? He was sick.
You tear apart your skin daily. Are you really one to talk?
"I burned my arm on the stove." I lied.
He laughed. "I think we both know that's not the truth. You wanna know what I think really happened?"
My pulse was racing and he took two threatening steps toward me. "What?" I kept my voice as even as I could, trying to keep an aura of calmness.
He leaned in towards me. "I think that, like the little emo you are, you cut yourself because you think you're life is 'so hard'." He grabbed my arm again, laughing when I winced in pain as I felt the wounds reopen. "I fucking hate attention seekers like you." If I hadn't been so focused on trying not to groan in pain, I probably would've laughed. He obviously didn't know a lot about his brother's boyfriend.
Shoving me to the ground, I clutched my arm to my chest. "Fuck." I gasped. I could see blood beginning to seep through the bandage.
The shrill late bell rang, and Mike opened the door. "Oh, and Alex? Some advice: next time, cut vertically. Do us all a favor." He hissed viciously and ran out of the room. When I was sure he was gone, I relaxed on the floor and groaned. I was already late to class, mine as well not go. It might have pissed my parents off, but I didn't care at the moment. I couldn't do class right now.
I furiously wiped the tears from my face. Now that Mike was gone, taking my adrenaline with him, I was shaking on the floor. Physically, he didn't hurt me too much. Mentally, however...
I grabbed my hoodie from across the room and pulled in back on. The soft fabric with the smell of detergent was comforting. Using the sleeves to wipe the tears from my face that just seemed to keep coming, I choked back a sob.
You know he's right. You should be dead by now.
Damn, I needed a blade. Maybe I would take Mike's advice after all.
An image of Jack popped in my head. He cared, right?
You idiot, of course he doesn't! No one could ever care for you, worthless loser.
The next 2 class periods continued in a similar fashion as this. I would plan the way I wanted to die, think of Jack, and immediately remember he didn't care. And nearly three hours later when the bell rang to signal the end of our lunch period, I had barely moved and I still couldn't stop crying. Was this a mental breakdown? Anxiety attack? Or was I just too fucked up to live?
Wiping my face one more time with my now soaked sleeves, I stood up and stretched. I actually liked my next class and didn't want to miss it. Partially because of the class, and partially because I knew if I skipped, the make-up workload would be hell.
Keeping my head down and shoulders hunched, I walked to my next and final class, English, staying close to the wall and not paying any attention to anyone. I reached the room in minutes, early enough to get a seat in the back of the room. My English teacher, Mr. Carlile - a young, tall, skinny man covered from nearly head to toe in tattoos - gave me a curious look. My favorite class was English, and Mr. Carlile happened to be an amazing teacher, so I normally sat near the front.
I leaned down to grab my English binder from my bag, and when I sat back up, Mr. Carlile was standing in front of my desk. "Everything alright, Alex?" He whispered. Mr. Carlile was the only one who knew about my self-harm and my depression - except for Jack, Vic, and Mike now. I looked up at him, and he saw the tears on my face, my eyes still shiny. "What happened?"
I pulled out a smile, as the classroom was filling up and there was too great of a chance of someone hearing. And if there was one thing this school was good at, it was gossiping. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it." My eyes scanned the room before returning to his, hoping he would get the memo.
He pursed his lips, thinking. "Stay after class." I nodded almost imperceptibly. It would make me later to skype with Jack, but honestly, I couldn't find it in me to care at the moment. He could wait an extra half hour.
Even though I honestly tried, I could barely pay attention throughout the duration of the class, and it showed. Every time I was called on, I was too busy spacing out with thoughts of death and blood. I had sniffles the entire class and every few minutes another few tears would slide out. By the end of the period, I didn't even have the energy to get out of my desk, so I sat there, staring at the wall, head collapsed in my arms, and waited for Mr. Carlile to come to me.
He said goodbye to some of his other students who had questions about homework and such before closing and locking the door. Walking over to me, I didn't even acknowledge him. I couldn't; if I had, I probably would have burst into tears. He pulled out the chair from the desk in front of me and sat in front of my own desk. "What's going on? I know this is a hard time of the year for you, but I've never seen you this upset before..." My brother, Tom, his suicide made national headlines. He was popular, the quarterback for our school's football team, and a damn good one. He had the perfect life, if you saw him outside of our house.
Inside, it was hell.
Our parents had great expectations for Tom. He had to get straight A's, do well in football, as well as an amplitude of other things. If not, the repercussions were horrible and bordering on abusive. The town had great expectations for Tom, as well. So did the school, and his friends, and every person who knew him, including me. He was my big brother, so I looked up to him. He was my superhero and best friend; I loved him more than anyone else.
Eventually, like all great wonders, he suffered under the pressure. Some coals get turned into diamonds under pressure, but I guess Tom had a crack. The day he died was the worst of my life.
Once again, I had spaced out, and Mr. Carlile was waving his hands in front of me to snap me out of it. I don't know what it was, but when I was snapped out of my trance, something inside me snapped with it.
A deluge of loud, wet, sobs escaped my mouth and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn't speak a coherent word because I was shaking so hard, teeth chattering against each other. "Alex! Alex, you have to calm down for me. Come on, please. Take deep breaths with me." I could barely hear him over the pounding of rushing blood swooshing through my ears, but I was a good lip reader. Stop fucking crying! You're such a baby; you need to learn to take it like a man. Taking deep breaths helped me to calm down slightly, and it made the shaking almost stop, but I was still nearly hysterical.
"I can't do this anymore. Please, just let me die. I want it, please!" I pleaded, implored over my tears. My hands pulled at my hair so hard that Mr. Carlile had to hold them away from it. He held my arms down in front of me, almost like he was hugging me. He sat in a chair behind me and pulled me so I was leaning back on him, and he held me until I passed out mere minutes later, exhausted from emotion.