Rants & Ramblings Of An Anti-Social Teenager

Reflections ; Memoir ; Writing Prompt

I wrote all of this, and yes, ALL OF THIS at school. That means I wrote this with constant mumbled and pleas from other students, begging not to have to write. Some of this sucks, I really think it does. And no, it's not really a rant or ramble, but it's some writing that I wanted to post here, as I think you guys should see what other kinds of writing that I can do. Thank you for reading. <3 x 

I n s p i r e *For the Reflections Contest*

The normal human easily shies away from danger or uncertainty. That’s always got to me. Why? Sure, there are many, many different kinds of people in this world with even more types of personalities. You have to learn to be comfortable in your own body and being yourself before you can take on the challenges of the world. Cheers, to the girls that are hurting. 

She’s scared. She goes home every night to an abusing father and a bystander type mother. She couldn’t, and didn’t even try to do anything about it. Her father was a drunkard, and each night it progressively got worse. Her so-called father made sure to bruise her in places where no one could see, and that clothes could cover up. She had purple violets – or bruises – scattered around her stomach and upper arms. It was a never ending battle with a monster you couldn’t run away from. At the beginning, she still loved her dad. She wanted him to go to therapy and get better. As it continued, she started to think that this was her fault. That maybe if she hadn’t gotten that D in history that her burly dad wouldn’t hit her. That maybe if she hadn’t been born than her dad wouldn’t have as much stress piled on to his daily life. 

First, she was called fat. Second, she became anorexic. People didn’t notice for a while, simply discarding the thought thinking that she wasn’t hungry or didn’t feel well. She looked at herself in the mirror each night and counted each rib. She still thought that she was fat, all because of that one ignorant person that allowed such a vile word to slip so effortlessly through this person’s lips. Finally, people started to notice. She started to deny it with all cost but she was frail. She couldn’t deny it forever. Her mum noticed and forced her to go to a doctor. She was taken in to a hospital that specialized with people like her. She gained weight and was eventually let go. After that, she became bulimic. She hated doctors and everyone of the sort because they made her ‘fat’ again. She threw up after every meal. People wondered why she was getting so skinny again, but just quit caring.

Maybe she was bullied. Maybe she dreaded going to school every single day because something would be spat at her, and then chuckled evilly at. She tried to shrug it off, but it still really got to her. She wasn’t that good in sports or just school in general. She tried but was constantly laughed at when she couldn’t kick the ball correctly, or got a C on almost every test. She tried, though. But trying wasn’t good enough for the people around her. She was shoved against a locker almost every day. She got thrown on to the dirty, utterly disgusting floor of the bath room if someone else happened to spot her in there. She cried herself to sleep every night, constantly thinking that she wasn’t good enough.

The next two girls had two different home lives. One was hurt a lot, either physically or emotionally by her parents. Maybe she was hit. Maybe she had an eating disorder. Maybe she had other problems that you should never, ever wish on your worst enemy. And then there was the other girl. She had an okay home life. Of course, at sometimes she got in to tiffs with her parents and friends. None of that mattered much, though. She wasn’t bullied to the extreme at school. Nothing of the sort happened, really. She was hurting for fear of people leaving her again. A member of her family died. Her best friend, her life-saver, her sister left her. She lost the will to live as she gradually became further empty inside. Her mom and dad started to yell some, and then it started to matter. Maybe if she wasn’t so depressed then she wouldn’t be using all of their money on counseling that isn’t really helping and medication that doesn’t work as much as it probably should. But she was surrounded by so many depressed and hurting people that she could no longer care about her own well being. As she was shaving once in the shower, she tried to cut herself and succeeded. It was about 4 inches above her knee and 1.5 inches wide. Crimson, metallic liquid poured out of her skin. She smiled, feeling relief. As life went on, she didn’t want to be weak anymore. She quit cutting for the time being. Whenever she was down, sometimes, she would split open her skin again. As time went on, it got more frequent. These girls are different as far as their surroundings go, but in the end, they still have the same hurting heart on the inside.