Not a bone in my body feels the need to get up every morning. I have no desire to smile. I don't want to laugh, I don't want to love, I don't want to live, but i do and i have no idea why.
In my kitchen there are sixteen knives that could make it all go away in a blink of an eye but i can never do it, i’m scared.
Every morning i feel like a self made robot with no strings attached. Wake up at 7:30 sometimes later than that, with bags six feet deep, I never get any sleep. I go to the mirror placed on the wall in the bathroom.I lean in close so i can see every imperfection perfectly, I need glasses. I cover them with mascara and a warm rag, then i do my hair. “Two braids will make do, don't do much or they'll notice you.”
I go to my closet filled with clothes but i always end up wearing black leggings and a hoodie. For some reason I’m obsessed with black leggings, they are as crystal is to a crackhead to me. I put on my shoes and i'm out the door by eight thirty, school starts at eight thirty four.
By the time i get there it's around 9 o'clock which means i missed most of my second period class again. Oh well. The classes fly by and before i know it its fifth period, Creative Writing class. I have every opportunity to say how I really feel but i don't, and i don't know why. Maybe because i don't want to live up to the stereotype of a writer. Being depressed.
When the bell rings i go to a cafeteria full of fake people and a fourth of them i call friends, lunch. I never eat though so i make my way to the gym.Every time i walk through the doors my heart starts beating so fast, i can feel it in my ears. It’s time to put on a fake smile.
As i make my way to the section of the bleachers i always sit in, I walk past a group of guys. They whistle at me like i'm some breed of dog and make comments on an a** i never asked for. I never say anything and i don't know why.
I’m forced to see this boy everyday, he used to know exactly what to say, cheer me up, and make the tears fade. When he gets around his friends he is a whole different person and refers to me as if i’m owned by him. I hate him, i hate him because i almost let myself love him. I love him because i knew what type of guy he was when i met him. I hate him because he’s one of the reasons why i hate myself. I’ll never have the courage to tell him that, and i don’t know why.
After lunch I go back to class and listen to teachers talk about things i could care less about. The rest of the day flies by and when the final bell rings i go outside and sit on the concrete benches surrounded by plants. Once my grandma pulls up i hop in the car to hear “How was your day?”. Every time i tell her it was fine even if it wasn’t fine, even if i wanted to breakdown and cry on her shoulder, even if i wanted to tell her what’s wrong i wouldn’t be able to, i don’t want to stress her.
Once I make it home i go to my room and i pull out the homework placed in my bag even though i don’t do it until i go to school the next morning, it’s an illusion. I sit in my bed and watch movies on Netflix until i fall asleep. I wake up to around thirty new messages from people who don’t really care so i never really text back.
When it’s time for dinner i scarf down my food and go back to my room, it’s a routine. I sit there and i think. I think about all the reasons why i don’t want to be here anymore, and then i think about how it would affect my mother. If my mother didn’t put so much effort in me i would’ve gotten that knife of the drawer and ended all of this way sooner. But i can’t, I love her, she loves me, the only one i really have by my side that will never leave.