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Skin and Blood. Battered And Bruised.
I use to be one of those girls who only cared about being popular and pretty, the ironic thing about this was, I never was pretty and I never was popular. I was average. Average Height. Average weight. Average looks. Average intelligence. Admittedly I was below average in popularity. I’m not really sure why. I remember even through my years as a child, never having many friends, if any. So I guess you could say the depression started from a young age too, though the issue never surfaced, it more or less just floated around, not really doing anything.
Then came high school and as you can imagine, it surfaced, sunk and occasionally would re surface from time to time.
I remember my first day of high school and I remember seeing the beautiful popular girls, being swarmed by followers, boy was I envious. I longed to be admired like that, I longed for someone to look at me and just think “wow, she is beautiful, I was I was like her”. But life being the unfair bugger it is, through me the complete opposite, and like every other cliché teenage story, the popular girl to a particular dislike to me. How ironic.
So it got to the stage where I couldn’t walk around school without someone making a snide comment or staring. It never really made sense to me, why people I had never spoken to, could hate me with a fiery passion. And by the end of my first year it had surfaced.
Being the young, naïve person that I am, I thought that the following year would be better. That everyone could put aside their differences. Of course, that didn’t happen. Big surprise I know. In fact I would have given my left kidney to go back to the year before, because this year wasn’t a good year for me. No. not at all.
I remember one day in class, my name being called out in class and one of the boys saying “What an ugly freak. Another saying “Oh look the Emo”. Looking back now it doesn’t seem like an overly hurtful thing but at the time it tipped me way or the edge. You see I was harming, pretty badly too, 30 or so slices, deep into my arms and thighs. I remember going home that day, filling a bucket up and plunging my head into, holding my breath, just hoping that it would have been my very last breath I would have to take. God didn’t want it that way though.
My mum finally found the cuts, when she asked me I would just say “oh, the dog scratched me” but she didn’t believe it this time, she knew, I think she had known for a while and was just in some sort of denial. But honestly, It was one the best things that ever happened. No matter how many times this is said and no matter how many times you think talking to someone won’t help, it does!
Eventually it all sunk down to the bottom and I thought it would all be in my past, something I could learn from and become a stronger person from.
The next year came and it was safe to say I was happy until another girl came, and once again, she took a particular distaste to me. But this was worse, even worse than before. This was physical. The pushing. The Shoving. The threats. The torture. So many times, mum and I would talk to the school, but they refused to do anything. So instead I had to suffer. I had to deal with it all because the school was just to spineless to do anything. Mum wouldn’t let me move schools, the girl followed me around like a tortures stink. Eventually the girl got expelled. Which really says enough about the girl? Ha.
Then Nanna died, she was an amazing woman and Mum was a wreck and I couldn’t deal with any of it. I couldn’t deal with Mum. I couldn’t handle the grief. I became very frustrated, so I took it all out on myself, out came the blades and the heavy objects; beating, burning and slicing. The person, whom I thought I could turn to, turned her back and once again I felt like nothing. It had surfaced again and I just wished It could all just go, go away some place and never come back. I burned half of my torso and sliced it too, along with my black and blue thighs. But I had the strength to stop…
Until today, I relapsed again. I’m sick of it, I really am. I’m sick of sitting with girls who exclude me, who don’t care, who don’t even like me. I even stood up for myself, that back fired. It makes me think, that it must just be me, there must be something wrong with me, to make every person I know, hate me with that same fiery passion they did a few years ago. I guess I’ve got myself all down in the dumps again. And I know I shouldn’t. There are bigger problems in the world, yeah I know, but I also know that I’m not the only one going through this.
And I hope that one day, one glorious day, it will get better for every single one of us and that we all have the strength to get through the tough times, because one day, we will be the ones on top, not the bottom.