People understand the pain I go through every day, it’s not hard to tell. Not saying anything. Not drawing like usual. Not smiling. Not laughing. Just sitting there. If they only knew exactly what I feel on the inside…
Now it’s time for me to tell you:
It starts in the morning, slowly waking up from a restless night of sleep. Tossing. Turning. Staring at the ceiling, until the sun rises. I slowly get off of my bed and get dressed for the long day ahead of me. I walk up the stairs from my cold basement bedroom to one of two families. A happy one or a miserable one. Usually, I’m unlucky and get the miserable one.
I walk out of my house and up the drive way to wait for the bus. I get on the bus for the half an hour bus drive. I arrive at the school, unprepared for the long school day, which takes 6 hours but feels like a life time…
I sit alone at a table and wait for my friends. They show up and we chat for a while. I head to first period and take my seat. As I open my notebook, so does my heart. I sit there, as the teacher talks about Europe, I doodle. Broken hearts. Tears. Being scared. Skulls. Gravestones. Bloody knives. Loaded guns. Nooses. These are the kinds of pictures I sketch in pen in my notebook.
I do this for the entire day. As I sketch, I see those knives and I feel them. Stabbing. Slashing. Cutting open. Twisting. I feel my heart bleeding out. I want to cry my eyes out every day but I learned; what’s the point? Crying everyday won’t get you anywhere, people ask too many questions. So I keep it hidden. I don’t like talking about my pain. My issues. My problems.
I stay quiet about it most days. Some days I try to talk. I try. My friends get distracted and I have no one to speak to. During lunch, things get chaotic. Friends mess around. Friends fight. I stay quiet. Then art class begins. My friends sit a different table. I sit with only one. But she leaves me as soon as the teacher looks away, to be with my friends. So, once again, I’m alone.
That feeling of being stabbed gets worse and worse. I don’t do my work. I just sit there. A blank paper sits in front of me. The teacher says when I can’t concentrate on my work, drawing what I’m thinking about or how I feel. I refuse to.
How could I explain the death? The blood? The gravestones? The torched bodies? The pain? The suffering? The one shadow figure, which stands over the scene and sees the sight. Smiling at what it caused. The feeling of pleasure because of the feeling of pain. How could I explain that all…to someone who does not know my past?
My past. That grey area…my childhood. My suffering little body. Stuck in that time where no one seemed to care. Lost, yet never found. Still wondering this cruel world, trying to find closure. Yet, in her journey of this world, only finds more and more pain. Because of her existence.
People tell her to go away…that innocent, hurt child. She just wants to leave this world in happiness. Once she finds it, she’ll leave. Leave everyone for good. Leaving the future women, who is suppose to be here, to finally live her peaceful life. But in that future women’s place, is this scared, little girl. She is a complete disaster.
Feeling pain on every square inch of her body. As if ten thousand knives are slowly cutting her skin by a Satanist, enjoying her pain as he sacrifices her. As if a million needles are being stabbed into her by a mad scientist, testing his new flesh eating virus on her. As if hundreds of wild rabid wolves where chewing on her skin, starving from not ready and were desperate for food.
This girl has some scars on her arms and legs from self-harm. Yet, nobody sees the scars deep down inside. In her mind, heart and soul. The scars from being made fun of. Being abandon. Feeling lonely. Being beaten to the ground. Having her whole world come crashing down. Having her heart ripped out of her chest and get stomped on. The hurtful words people have told her. “Go die.” “You don’t deserve to live.” “Get over it.”
Get over it…Those are the words she hates to hear. Get over it? Get over the pain? The suffering? The scars? The bruises? The scratches? The memories? The heartbreaks? Her life? My fellow person…if you dare call yourself a human being, you would never say that to another. Those are the words of not caring. Showing not a shred of caring inside of you. If you dare say that, you’re just as bad as the people who caused the pain.
People don’t understand her…the thoughts that go through her head every day. She wears a jacket everyday so she doesn't see her skin. When she does, all she thinks about is how easy the human flesh can be cut and she is really tempted to cut. She doesn't look in a mirror. She can’t even stand to look at herself. When she does, all she sees is the cuts and bruises that are invisible to everybody else. She masks herself, making herself seem happy to everybody else. Meanwhile deep down inside; there is a war going on. A war between herself and the darkness.
She slowly loses a new battle every day, yet acting like she still is strong enough to take on the enemy. Everybody believes the mask, because…they don’t know the person deep down inside. But, once in a blue moon, she appears to tell people her story. Yet…nobody listens.
She goes back, feeling more pain. Knowing nobody cared. Rips her soul into millions of pieces. Crushing her heart as if it was glass. Shattering so bad that she has to hold the area where her heart was suppose to be. But, there’s nothing. Nothing but pain. Just pure pain.
She’s an empty shell. A walking corpse. A moving statue. A crumpled piece of paper that someone just threw away, like it was nothing. Nothing…that’s what she feels like. Nothing. Air has more emotion then her. It moves. It breathes. It speaks to you. She is just a whisper in the wind. Help me…Help me please…The whispers in dark are heard by no one because no one is around. A lost voice in the dark.
That’s all she’ll ever be. Until that day. That day, when she finds her happiness. She’ll spread her angel wings and fly through the sky. Beaming. The sunlight shinning off of her hair. As if it was made of silky gold. An amazing sight to see. Once in a life time. Help see this beautiful angel before her life time is over. Save her…from pain. The pain of nothingness.
And to those who think that she is not real. And I am just saying this for attention. One day. You will be amazed. You will be proven wrong. You will believe in this simple, tiny, lifeless, little girl that begs for your help. One day, you shall see that beautiful angel bloom and you’ll know. You’ll know you were wrong. You were wrong about everything.
One day…that’ll come. And she will bloom. Yet, still never look down on others. She will forgive you. She’ll free you, just as somebody freed her. But…
That day is a long ways away. She keeps reaching through that black cloud. Hoping one day that somebody will reach through. And pull her up. Help her spread her wings. Help her learn to fly again. To soar through the clouds. Feeling sunshine on her face and the wind through her hair. Feeling…free again.
This is the pain that she goes through every day. Those who know don’t listen carefully. They stand there. And say words, like they mean something. But she won’t be free. Until somebody takes a stand. Makes that step. To reach for her small hand. And help her through it all. That thick, black cloud of sorrow and pain. Then, that beautiful angel will have her scars fully healed. And her wings spread open. To fly again.
But…that is only a dream. A figment of her imagination. No one has the courage or the strength or the time to tenderly help this lost angel. She is stuck in that black hole until that one day. That one day. That one person. That one small chance for hope. But…that is only one big dream.