I've been switching on and off with running and walking for the last couple of hours. I was getting tired now. My legs and arms felt like lead. I felt like I've just been beaten up by a bunch of grizzly bears, but lived to tell the tail.
"Just a little longer..." I said out loud to serve as inspiration.
Whoever said your physical health was better than your mental health was seriously wrong. Your mental health-your mind- creates your thoughts, your defenses, your ability to think which includes your conscience. Your conscience is almost like something in you that keeps you from going insane. Without your conscience, you won't feel guilty for anything you do and that describes serial killers.
I got lost in my thoughts as I finally arrived at my destination, the meadow, our meadow. It's been since the afternoon of the accident since I've been here. No matter how many times I go here, it never stops to take my breath away.
The flowers of various colors represent various moods and various seasons and various people...
The flowers crowded the whole field. It felt like I was in a dream when I walked through it, a day dream. Some were up to my ankles and some were up to knees.
They were all so beautiful that I felt like I was ripping someone's heart out by walking on them.
I walked and I walked for a couple hundred yards until I reached the path that led up to everything, every good memory, every good time, and every piece of my heart.
It was a dirt path through the woods. It had tall, graceful trees surrounding both sides with leaves clattered everywhere like a messy teenager's room.
I walked and I walked until I reached what I was looking for- the lake, my lake, our lake.
I dropped all of my backpacks on the ground and ran to the sliverly, blue water.
I looked at my reflection in the water. I haven't looked at myself in months and I barely recognized myself. My brown eyes that usually sparkle with happiness were dull and bloodshot from all the crying. I had huge bags under my eyes from the lack of sleep. My dark, creamy, brown hair looked even worse than it usually does. I didn't really care because well who do I have to look good for and who would even want me? I looked at what I was wearing, a pair of purple soffe shorts and a black tank. I lived in southern Georgia so it was pretty hot during the spring.
I felt like a completely different person. I never run away from my problems.
What did I ever do deserve this?
Did I really not deserve something in my life that was right?
"Life sucks, get over it," someone whispered.
I whipped my head around so fast it gave me whiplash. I moaned out in pain.
"Ha, ha, he, he, heh," someone laughed.
"Wh-who ar-are y-y-you?" my gentle voice quivered.
"Who do you think I am?" it smartly answered back.
I looked around trying to see someone, something, any trace of a person, but had no such luck.
"I would stop looking around, if I were you, you're not going to see me."
What the heck is that supposed to mean?
"What do you mean I can't see you?" my voice got even softer.
YOU ARE READING
After the death of her best friend, Savannah McCartney has never felt more alone. Her family completely ignores her and blames of her friend's death. There is a reason that her family doesn't accept her, she's different, but not in the way that they...