I beg my mom not to make me go: Please do not force me into that hell. I beg and plead to be set free, but my pleas are not heard. This is some sort of test of bravery – This some sort of test of building my character – This is some sort of lesson – she says. They say. All of them say the same thing: Go to school, ignore them, you cannot just run away from your problems. And so.
Even the weed doesn’t help anymore. Even the alcohol doesn’t help anymore. The cutting still numbs me a little, but it has lost its strength. The adults have seen my bloody scars, caught me in my mischief, heard some of the secrets I had previously kept hidden … and yet, I am not being heard. Not seen. No one is listening. I even tried to run away. The cops found me, and even they would not hear my pleas.
I walk through the halls with my head down, but even still I can feel their eyes. I am being dissected and soon, soon the taunts will start. You know how in the movies, even the loner has a friend? Not me. I have no one. Not one single person to hide beside. I walk alone in a sea of sharks that have decided to hate me with passion. For reasons false and untrue. My days are filled with painful words, shoving, tripping, rumors that are spread with poison. So this is building my character, huh? I am ignoring them (as much as you can ignore being pushed into a desk), but they are not going away.
There is no rescuing for me. No safety. I have tried everything else, nothing has worked. Maybe what they yell at me in school is true: me dying is the only way out.
That is a tiny excerpt of my high school experience. My heart breaks every single time I hear of another teen committing suicide because I know that darkness & pain so very well. I did not succeed in my quests at dying , and so live another day to fight my battles … but this is the exception to the rule. Not everyone will have that outcome.
There is so much more that I have to say, but I must tread lightly.
My thoughts & love to those victims of pain.