I look at myself in my full length mirror, in the corner of my room. My long hair drapes over my striped grey jacket. I wish I could get it cut. Mom wouldn't let me though, she would say it looks too boyish.
But what if that's what I want.
What if I want to be a boy?
That would be the best thing ever.
I hurry up, grab my bag that's leaning against the mirror, and walk out of my room.
The hallway is barren like always. Ever since dad died, mom just doesn't get out of bed until one. I don't even know if she's awake, she just might be staring off into space, wondering why it had to be this way.
Sigh.
I jog down the stairs, and exit the door, to go to wretched school.
My beanie, protecting the back of my head from the cold nearly falls off from the wind. I just whip it off and stuff it in my pocket.
Five blocks in this weather can hurt somebody. I see children in the windows of their houses, pointing and laughing at me. They're not laughing because I'm walking with hardly not enough layers, but because I simply look different to them.
I wear baggy jeans.
Dull colored clothing.
My bangs sweep across my forehead.
I look like an emo- stereotypical seventeen year old boy.
But instead I'm an emo- stereotypical seventeen year old girl.
Who wants to be an emo- stereotypical seventeen year old boy.
I turn right on sixth street, dreading what I know what's coming.
I pull on my hood, and quickly shuffle past the group of troublesome teenagers, who seem to be drinking from a brown paper bag.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?...Freak." One of them says, while they all walk up slowly to me, fists clenched.
"I'm just trying to get to school guys. Please. Leave me alone. Not today."
I'm practically begging, while being backed up into a brick wall. That's when one of the four guys, swings up his muscular arm towards my face.
I fly to the ground, and reach for the bruise that I know is on my cheek. Before I could even lift my hand, I feel a sharp stab at my stomach. And another. And another. And another.
You could count the bruises that have been left on me, in the past two months.
Dad would always drive me to school, because we couldn't afford another car. And I couldn't take the bus because I'm just not good when I'm around other people. I hyperventilate and start to panic. The doctor says I have anxiety, Dad said I just love living so much that I breathed more than everyone else.
But in reality, I don't wanna breathe more than everyone else.
I don't wanna breathe at all.
A coppery, taste starts to form in my mouth. I cough some more and I can't open my eyes to see it, because the pain hurts so much, but I know it's blood.
The kicking stops, and I lay there, on the cold grounded cement, against a brick wall.
I hear footsteps start pounding away from me, simultaneously I hear cop sirens.
I open my eyes for a brief moment to let the cops know I'm not dead, but I might as well be. They look at me with hope, something that I don't have.
I close my eyes again because keeping them open is too tiring.
"We're gonna find who did this, okay kid?"
One of them say to me as I'm being lifted onto a gurney.
I cough up some more blood as I'm being rushed into the back of a big white truck.
I close my eyes and pray to die.
Right here, on this gurney, right now.
Unfortunately, He didn't hear me, and decided to not answer. I'm still breathing. I feel like shit though, and it's not okay.
I'm put in this room, with a lot of people in white coats.
The last time I was in a hospital, was when dad was hurt. Four hours later he died in his sleep.
Four hours later, I'm still here. Still living, still breathing. Still not wanting to live, still not wanting to breathe. I feel better. The copper taste is still there, though not as prominent as before.
They told me to rest and so I did. Although I think they gave me something to make me fall asleep quicker but I don't mind, I needed a good nap. My bag is on the chair next to me. Containing all of my depression poems and anxiety stories. I want to write, but I can't move my hands or my arms. I'm too weak.
I look over to my right to see a small television screen. On it has my x-Ray. My ribs look chipped.
Looks like I'm not getting out of here anytime soon.
I stare up at the ceiling, my eyes closing and opening automatically. Nothing changes. It's just a white wall, with no action. Plain.
That's how life is. You sit around waiting for things to happen, and they don't. Nothing. You want things to be better, but they won't, and they can't. The simplicity and blandness just take over one day, and all you can do is just sit, and breathe. Nothing changes.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My mother didn't even come visit me.
She's probably too depressed. Or maybe she doesn't even know I'm here. It's all just more money that we have to pay. More money that we don't have.
I press the button that orders the nurse to come into my room. It beeps until I let go. A few seconds later, Diane opens the door of my room, with a pleasant smile on her face, probably happy because this is the first time I've called her in instead of her checking up on me.
"Yes. Are you alright? Did they give you lunch?"
She asks as she scans the room for a lunch tray.
I shake my head no.
"I don't want to be here anymore."
I say to the nurse, still with a pleasant smile.
"You don't leave until Saturday, Hun."
That's not what I meant.
"Okay."
I just simply say.
She nods.
"I'll bring you your lunch."
She says before closing the door.
I roll my head over to the opposite side of the pillow. Never have I ever wanted to go home so much, ever since dad.
A few hours pass by, and now it's midnight. Mom hasn't come, I don't even know if she called. All I could think about was how I'm gonna die in this hospital, just like my father did.
My dad died of something called STS.
Cancer of the leg. He didn't tell anyone he was hurting, although we knew something was wrong, or maybe I just knew something was wrong.
Everyday Friday, after school, he would go to play cards with the guys at Dylan's Card Shack. One day, I decided that it would be nice to surprise him, so I didn't ride with my, back-then-best-friend, so I walked to the card shack.
When I got there, I opened the door and scanned the area for my father. I didn't see him so I asked one of the workers if he had known where he was. He just looked at me and said he never heard the name before.
Two days later, I ended up being next to him by his bedside, in a hospital at eleven forty five at night. The doctors had told that he's been coming to the hospital to receive any new information, for the past six weeks, but sadly the information only got worse from there. My mother was there too, only she was sobbing into the bed sheets whilst my father only opening and closing his eyes only for a few seconds at a time.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She kept repeating over and over and over again till each word didn't sound like words to me anymore.
Then the monotone beep roared, in our hospital room. My mind went blank, my ears were more alert then ever, focusing in on the screams and noise. My mother tried to say her goodbyes but though she couldn't get the words out, for she was sobbing like the world just collapsed.
Tears filled my eyes, my heart became heavy, my breathing increased drastically, and my legs became weak. I didn't pass out or anything, I just walked out. Onto the pavement outside, onto the busy street, and I stood. In the middle of the street, cars rushing past, I stood. The whirl of one car almost took me down. I closed my eyes, horns blared. I opened them to see, right in front of me was a black jeep. So close, I could touch the emblem of the car without extending my arm. It didn't hit me. I didn't have a scratch on me. Why did it not hit me? It was suppose to hit me. People jumped out of their cars. The cops swarmed and asked if I was alright. I said no. They preceded to asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said no. My mother was standing on the sidewalk of the road. She didn't come rushing towards me, she stood, frozen in time. I don't know if it was her only child, and daughter almost committed suicide or if it was her husband of nineteen years just lost his life to leg cancer. That night the police took me home. My mother, got picked up by a friend. I went into my bedroom, curled under the covers, closed my eyes and didn't sleep for three days. My mother didn't sleep for five. I didn't go to school. My mother quit work. The bullies would beat me up. My mother would be sleeping at five in the afternoon. We got an eviction notice. She would rip them off the door. I was diagnosed with depression, and anxiety. She still hasn't seen a therapist.
I don't wanna be here anymore.
It's now three AM. Everything is quiet except for my heart monitor. The nasty salad and tuna fish from lunch, is still on the mobile table next to me. I just can't go to sleep.
I've attempted suicide once.
I want to do it again.
I look to my right and see the beautiful night time sky, through the window. I see a latch on the bottom of it. I quickly detach all of the cords and wires from my body, and pull off the covers from above me. Little beeps go off but I don't care. I undo the latch and a swift breeze catches my body, underneath my hospital gown. It hurts to stand but, I'm doing it.
I pull up the window, and the city noise overtakes my ears. I climb onto the ledge when I hear a tugging at my door.
"Go away!" I scream through the loud noise. They tug some more. I am standing tall on the edge. I hug the wall so I can turn around. I shuffle my body so that my back is toward the city, and I am facing the door. I outstretch my arms, then suddenly the door jerks open. I am tipping backward. The last thing I see before I close my eyes, is my horrified mother. I hear her scream as I fall backward. It sounds exactly like the screams when dad died.
"NO!!"
I tried to reach up, but it was too lat-.
+++
What if being transgender wasn't such a bad thing. Those guys wouldn't have beaten me up. I wouldn't have gone to the hospital, I wouldn't be as depressed.
I wouldn't have killed myself.
___________________________
Think before you act.
Please.