shake it off

4 8 h o u r s

It's been Forty-eight hours since my mother died or so the police claim because nobody can be sure. 

It was at school and the principle pulled me out of class. She told me and I quote-"Kayla, your mom has passed away. Your dad is on his way to pick you up". I didn't even get a "sorry" from the prick - even though I probably would have punched her if she'd told me that.

My dad didn't come to pick me up from school. I went to the gas station and found Mike, my "best friend's" boy friend, standing out front. I told him what had happened. I didn't cry when I told him. He asked what was wrong and I answered. Simple as that. Mom killed herself, dad found her and she didn't leave a note. Oh and my ass of a teacher told me like it was a day in the park.

"Damn. That ain't right." Is what Mike told me. And you know what? He's right. It took me a while but It's not right. I didn't say anything though.

Mike came closer and gave me a tight hug.

"You're not you're mom Kay." He said grabbing the bottom of my shirt and lifting it a bit. "You will get through this. You'll go through shock and sadness and then anger and whatever else you're gonna feel and come out stronger for it. But not by doing this." He pressed the pad of his thumb on my burn. It was fresh that morning.

I grimaced. It wasn't a cute moment if that's what you thought because when he told me to go home I could still feel the heat that until now had been a dull roar on my stomach now hotter than hell... And itchy.

Mike didn't mince words. He also doesn't have a filter.

I never told him what I did and he didn't figure it out. My best friend, Tilly, told him because she didn't like the fact that he didn't treat me like I was an extension of her. He treated me like Kayla and not Tilly's "best friend". But after Mike found out about my burns he didn't treat me like a freak like Tilly wanted him to. He asked me about it and we talked about messed up things in the world and that was it. No judgement, no pity and no freak show treatment.

I walked home thinking about this.

By the time I got home, I had managed to forget for a moment that my mother was dead via killing herself. When I walked through the foyer and into the family room I remember real fast. I saw my father laying there, on the sofa, not moving. I dropped my bag by the TV stand and moved to where my dad had been. I had lay on the floor beside the sofa he was on and reached my hand up for his. We spent the night like that. When I had woken I was in my parents bed and my dad was gone.

It's been two weeks since mom killed herself. It kinda became an unspoken agreement between my dad and I to keep going as if nothing had happened. There would be no funeral. My mother will be cremated and her ashes thrown into the sea where she loved most and hated the best. My father found no point in keeping her ashes in the house. He doesn't like ghosts. I didn't care either way.

After the day that my mother killed herself my father hadn't cried-until last night. When he came home from work he hugged me tight and demanded I not leave him too. My dad knew. He knew I hurt myself. And he was demanding I stop it. And well, what else could I do but promise him.

I am many things but a liar is not one of them. So when I made my promise I meant it. Even if I didn't understand what it meant.

Going cold-turkey with your addiction is a really stupid thing to do. Either it be smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, fighting or self harm, it's the same thing. It's an addiction. It's a (bad) habit or routine or life style formed over a period of time. And we all know bad habits die hard.

I started burning myself when I was twelve. I was sad. For no good reason at all. I had good friends and good parents and a good life. What was there to be sad about?

I can tell you the exact moment hit me that I realized I was depressed. It was eight grade U.S. History class. My teacher, whom had be annoyed at the class for not getting our folders from the bookshelves, went on a mini-rant.

"Okay now, everybody go get your folders and copy the notes on the projector. We don't have all day here. It's not the first day of class. It's routine already folder, notes, discussion and repeat. Same thing every day."

Same thing. Every day. Doesn't that sound depressing?

I learned three things that day. One - that I was, in fact, depressed. Two - routine and sameness is what had depressed me. And Three - Mrs. Brown was a horrible teacher.

For the most part, I was able to pull myself together. I wasn't dramatic and a crying mess all the time. I'm not a dramatic and a crying mess all the time. If anything, I'm just indifferent. Numb. Cold. Call it what you want but I just really don't care.

My mother had known too. My mother and I had been eating grapes on the edge of the pool our feet dangling in the water. She looked at me and told me, "the women in our family struggle. We either steer the ship or let it sink.". Mom, she had let the boat sink.

My mother and I never spoke of it again. I, I'm currently struggling to grip the wheel.