Hard but Beautiful

September 30, 2011
By Anonymous

I once read a saying in a magazine, that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Life is hard, but beautiful. I didn’t realize how hard or how beautiful life truly was until I met my teacher's family and my simple life turned upside-down. I felt like I grew up overnight after meeting them, even though sometimes in those moment I felt more like a baby because I had never cried so much in my whole life; and the whole reason why was because of a decision I made before I thought of the consequences. Looking back, the event truly did help me live differently, in a good way; all though took a long time for me too figure that out.

A few short weeks after I found out 6th through 8th grade my teacher was changing jobs, I got a letter from the soon to be new teacher. The white paper looked like all the letters school sent out; creative font with some sort of nature picture centered at the beginning. The first paragraph told us a little bit about this stranger from the east, but what really caught my eye was the first sentence telling about his family. He had three kids, ages 12, 10 and 8. Oldest was David who I later found out was a very interesting individual. Libby was next; I learned she never shut up. Last was Ethan, who was just, Ethan. I looked at the names and thought about the people these names belonged to, never guessing my life would be so moved by this family. Scott, my new teacher, showed up for school and off handily gave me the job of grader. We became fast, and I mean really fast, friends. It wasn’t until after Thanksgiving break we met the rest of his family that I would come to know so well. Libby and I hit it off. From the moment she asked “Isn’t your name Sara?” we never stopped talking. David, the oldest of the three, was daringly handsome to all the girls in our class, who had known only the same pathetic boys since kindergarten. David was sporty, David was independent, and this David I wanted. Through a predictable chain of events we started going out. I know what you’re thinking, 7th grade is too young to be dating and falling in love, I know, but what happened can’t be changed.

Four months after we got together, he called me and said he was leaving to going back to his home town, North Carolina for a few weeks to be with family and old friends. If only I had known then what that trip really would hold for the both of us.

A few weeks ended up being eight by the time we saw each other again. It was painfully long for me, especially because of what I did. Saying the sin didn’t sound so bad to me, but doing it; I might as well have killed my family by how bad I felt after the innocent act. I kissed him; no not David. I kissed my ex boyfriend. With so much of this in the world today, cheating really didn’t sound that bad. The difference was David was so loving and forgiving when I told him what I did, I really just felt like trash. He did end up leaving me after he got home (smart boy), but the morning after I told him what I did, I cried at my computer reading his pre-goodbye email, sitting on my hard wood floor crouched up in a small ball. I cried for a long time that Saturday I did the deed, and the Sunday I told David. The days to follow were a blur to me, only remembering major events, getting sick, and spending countless nights in my room alone. I remember the night I slowly climbed the giant tree in our front yard and walked onto my roof in bitter cold and sorrow. For two hours I replayed the same song over and over on my iPod, letting the words sink into the depths of my heart. I hid because I didn’t want my family to hear me screaming into the wind, hoping a greater power would find me and make everything alright again. In some ways, a greater power did find me; but it took three years before that truly happened.

After David, I lost sight of what I used to hold on to. My life had changed and I couldn’t go back and pretend nothing ever happened. Looking back, even then I knew I didn’t want to die, but there were days the word suicide crossed my mind more than once. Death sounded so easy, at least the way I imagined it. Then there was the night I stood on the side of a highway as we traveled to Campion; my family and his family at a little ice cream shop, only a gravel parking lot away from the cold black tar and the heavy semi trucks. Silently I watched the heavy steal monsters, thinking about the feelings I would get if I was to walk out onto the yellow strips. A warm tear traveled down my frigid face before I turned to the sound of footsteps behind me. My teacher and best friend stood behind me, gave me a reassuring hug, and took me safely back to the picnic tables. We continued on to Campion with no major injuries or stories to tell, thank God, because freshman year saved my life, sophomore year only got better when Ryan and I got together. He kept me together and knew all the right things to say. I could never thank him enough for letting me cry on his shoulder when he knew I was crying over my ex. Ending my life that night would have been the worse decision, because I am nowhere near the best days of my life; more is still to come and I hear life only gets better.

Life is hard and beautiful. I remember the nights I wanted to end it, and now I couldn’t ever imagine not wanting to wake up; if not for my friends and family, for the silly things like my rats that bring a smile to my face every time I walk into the room. It wasn’t easy crying for three years, trying to get over someone you hurt so badly. It was hard. Life is too beautiful for us not to try again though, because falling down and not getting up, is not an option that benefits tomorrow.

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