My name is Penelope. I am a junior in high school and I can’t believe I even made it this far. I live with my mom, and whoever her weekly boy toy is. My father died of brain cancer when I was eight years old. It was really hard to grow up without a dad. We had a very close relationship. I had the perfect family and I couldn’t have asked for anything more. When my father died, everything fell apart. My mom started losing a ton of weight, she started going out every night and bringing someone new home. I had to raise myself, and to be honest, my life is a living hell, but there is nothing I can do about it.
I loathe school. I can’t stand half of the people there, and I only have one friend. If I didn’t have her, I don’t know what I would do. I walked to school that morning. It was cold out for the beginning of fall. I tried to keep my head down and stay out of everybody’s way. I felt Jenna’s eyes glued to me. We used to be best friends in sixth grade, tied at the hip. Then one day, she just decided she hated me, and has ever since. Jenna never realized how much this hurt. I guess I was just going to have to deal with it. Dealing with tough situations, was the story of my life.
Jenna is the one who makes my life miserable. She always found a way to turn everyone against me. I just don’t know if I can take it anymore. For five years, I’ve been dealing with this, and it is sickening. I sat on my bed thinking about all she has done to me. I remember one time in seventh grade, she told everyone that I had head lice. As a result, I had to stay home from school for a week. Then in ninth grade, I thought I had a fresh start, but she found a way to ruin that too. She told everyone that over the summer, I got pregnant from this random guy that I had met at a party. She told them that I tried to kill it on a rollercoaster. The worst was in tenth grade. She told everyone that my mom and I made our money by standing on a street corner, waiting for men to pick us up. “I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE!” I said as I picked up the knife on my bedside table and sliced my wrist. Suddenly, all of the pain was gone.
Weeks passed and the only way to get rid of my pain, was to hurt myself with a knife. I started getting weird thoughts, scary thoughts, thoughts that I shouldn’t be here. That I don’t deserve to be. I hate my life anyway, so what’s the point? I found myself staring in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles, messy hair, and cuts on my wrist. “I don’t like it here.” I said quietly to myself. I screamed and ripped my hair out. Then I opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed four different bottles of pills, and poured them on the floor. I grabbed a handful, and brought them towards my mouth. When they touched my tongue, I swallowed, hard. I didn’t feel any different. Then my mom walked in. She looked frightened and then ran to the phone to call an ambulance that rushed me to the hospital. I don’t remember anything from here. All I know is that I am talking to my dad, like he had never left me. I am now, where I am supposed to be.