The Journey That Is Life; A Teenage Perspective

Chapter 9- Sky High

I remember I did try my best into thinking that it was just a phase, and I blocked it from my memory with my best ability. But why was I so weak today? I’ve only ready 4 pages. I started thinking, and feeling exactly what I felt for three years straight:

     I felt so stuck, jammed, broken. My mouth couldn't hold a smile, and it took awhile just to get up and go. I felt so stressed, annoyed, a mess. I was treated like a pest, everything was the trigger, problems got bigger, and I started to hate everything. I felt so alone, scared, like a little girl, like it was I against the world. I just couldn't handle it by myself, I tried to reach out for help from friends, but it turns out they were just glad I had them. Even Sully started talking to me less. But he was naive then, and I know he has his own problems now, and he knows how it feels to be alone. I also remembered thinking that sometimes I didn't want to kill myself, that I ruined so many things, that I just never wanted to exist. I was simply, numb.

     I knew I was crying in silence with my door open, so I stumbled over to close it just in case. After it closed I leaned into the door, pressing my forehead against it, and my hands were gripping nothing but the cold air. I never wanted to feel that pain I did again, by my heart has sunk in the last 10 minutes, and I felt as empty as I did back then. I turned around, eyeing my little diary of unhappiness, and remembered yet another thing; where I hid tools I used to make myself feel relieved.

     I turn to my left, and reached to the back of my closet, pulling out a little wooden box. A box that no one in the right mind would expect there would be razor blades, lighters, and narcotics hidden within. I opened it up and the first thing I smelt was the smell of marijuana, but the first thing I saw was my old Blade.

     Blade.

     That icy cold blade, I ran across my skin, sending chills down my spine. That crimson blood ran from my wrist that dipped down. Drop by drop, to the sink that stood before me at the time.

     But I felt calm, and in control! The devil inside me took my soul; the blade did the job one time, two times, three and more. My vision got blurry like it did when the car hit me, and my heart pounded faster. But I woke up every morning after, groggy and confused. People pounded on the bathroom door, but my brain felt like it was pounding in my head. So I put on my best face, I didn't want anyone in my family to know. Why? I thought they wouldn't care. I found countless excuses, which I seem to be good at.

     Their world would be fine and dandy if they didn't know. NO matter if my world was in hell, they will never know. And they still don't. I acted for three years. Three. I can't recall how I got over everything actually. In fact, now that I put some thought in it, I think I woke up one morning and stored everything away, looked in the mirror and smiled.

     Through my thoughts and tears, I looked up from my collection in my little wooden box, into the mirror. And there I stood, with mascara running down my cheeks, following the stream of tears. I felt ugly, so I closed the box. I opened my closet again, and put it back where it was, behind a few teddy bears, and novels I'll never read. I walked over to my bed, took one last look at the cover. 'Silence Is The Loudest Scream', and hid that as well.

     I cleaned my face from a towel that was laying on the ground from this morning, I took everything off my face, I took the earrings out of my ears, and I put my hair up and out of my face into a messy bun. All natural, and I smiled. Then and there, I got a text from Sully, a clever greeting, like usual. And once again, I was in a good mood. Thanks Sully. Today has been so odd.