Rise Above This
Fifteenth Letter
Dear Tina,
You know...life is hard. Everyone has their own problems, including yourself. One day you're going to move away from all your friends and you're going to end up living thousands of miles away from your childhood memories. People are going to be different, difficult is going to be given an entirely new definition each day you breathe. Pain will become a part of your daily routine, as will a whole other whirlwind of emotions.
By the time you've turned thirteen, you will have reached the lowest point of your life. Miserable and depressed, you're going to grow tired of the fake smiles when in reality all you want is to feel alive again. When you look in the mirror, you won't see anything except a stupid, ugly and worthless girl. You'll feel like you're a burden to everyone.
Once fourteen rolls along, you're beyond repair. Constantly giving yourself into the razors, knives, scissors...any sharp objects really. Your arms, legs and hips become your canvas of destruction. As silly as it seems, you're content. You feel like you're in control. Months will pass and you'll grow tired of just pain. Not so innocent thoughts from your childhood will begin to creep back into your mind, and you wonder if you should just grab the knife and get it over with every night. Pain is nothing now, no, you just want to be dead.
The wearier you get, the more you contemplate suicide.
Suffocating, strangling, bleeding to death, and poisoning yourself all fail. This is adds on to the massive amounts of anger you're feeling. It seems like you can't do anything right, not even kill yourself. You think to yourself "Well if I can't kill myself quickly, then why not just do it slowly?", thus beginning even more bad habits.
Day after day, night after night, you become a slave to not just the razor, but the bottle too. Anything that you can swallow, it goes down your throat. At times you're too high to come down that you won't even remember how many tiny little pills have made their way down your throat. Could it be twenty? Fifty? Seventy?
Life continues on and you seek "help". Your problems stay at bay for a short period of time, then come running back to you at full throttle. Near the end of freshman year in high school, you open the bottle for the first time in a long time. The next day, you'll wake up feeling terrible. You go to school and confess to the person who'd understand most, crying your heart out. She'll cry alongside with you and at that very moment, you realize how scared you truly are of dying. You've dreamt of so many possibilities for the future, and it'll too early to let them go. That'll be the last time you ever give yourself in to the tiny white pills that once made you feel so alive.
You learn that it's okay to slipup sometimes and feel sad...but trying to throw away your life is not the answer. Everyone, no matter who you are or where you're from has a purpose. It's never too late to turn over a new leaf and want to start over again.
Don't ever forget that there's atleast one person waiting to see your smiling face day after day. There's always someone willing to help stop the bleeding.
Love always,
Tina.
You know...life is hard. Everyone has their own problems, including yourself. One day you're going to move away from all your friends and you're going to end up living thousands of miles away from your childhood memories. People are going to be different, difficult is going to be given an entirely new definition each day you breathe. Pain will become a part of your daily routine, as will a whole other whirlwind of emotions.
By the time you've turned thirteen, you will have reached the lowest point of your life. Miserable and depressed, you're going to grow tired of the fake smiles when in reality all you want is to feel alive again. When you look in the mirror, you won't see anything except a stupid, ugly and worthless girl. You'll feel like you're a burden to everyone.
Once fourteen rolls along, you're beyond repair. Constantly giving yourself into the razors, knives, scissors...any sharp objects really. Your arms, legs and hips become your canvas of destruction. As silly as it seems, you're content. You feel like you're in control. Months will pass and you'll grow tired of just pain. Not so innocent thoughts from your childhood will begin to creep back into your mind, and you wonder if you should just grab the knife and get it over with every night. Pain is nothing now, no, you just want to be dead.
The wearier you get, the more you contemplate suicide.
Suffocating, strangling, bleeding to death, and poisoning yourself all fail. This is adds on to the massive amounts of anger you're feeling. It seems like you can't do anything right, not even kill yourself. You think to yourself "Well if I can't kill myself quickly, then why not just do it slowly?", thus beginning even more bad habits.
Day after day, night after night, you become a slave to not just the razor, but the bottle too. Anything that you can swallow, it goes down your throat. At times you're too high to come down that you won't even remember how many tiny little pills have made their way down your throat. Could it be twenty? Fifty? Seventy?
Life continues on and you seek "help". Your problems stay at bay for a short period of time, then come running back to you at full throttle. Near the end of freshman year in high school, you open the bottle for the first time in a long time. The next day, you'll wake up feeling terrible. You go to school and confess to the person who'd understand most, crying your heart out. She'll cry alongside with you and at that very moment, you realize how scared you truly are of dying. You've dreamt of so many possibilities for the future, and it'll too early to let them go. That'll be the last time you ever give yourself in to the tiny white pills that once made you feel so alive.
You learn that it's okay to slipup sometimes and feel sad...but trying to throw away your life is not the answer. Everyone, no matter who you are or where you're from has a purpose. It's never too late to turn over a new leaf and want to start over again.
Don't ever forget that there's atleast one person waiting to see your smiling face day after day. There's always someone willing to help stop the bleeding.
Love always,
Tina.
♠ ♠ ♠
I did not mean for the swallowing thing to be sexual, I swear. I actually laughed when I typed that part out...that just shows how different I am. But I'm starting to love that person, regardless of my past.