I Cry Myself to Sleep

November 14, 2012
By CookieMonsterAttacks SILVER, Grand Rapids, Michigan
CookieMonsterAttacks SILVER, Grand Rapids, Michigan
6 articles 0 photos 46 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I called you a lady, 'cause you're fat!" ~ Gracie G.

Every night, I cry myself to sleep.
The sheer weight of the day pulls down on me, dragging me into the deep dark abyss. My heart feels constricted, barb wire laced around it. Each beat sends a wave of pain through my body, and the only way to let some of it go is through the sobs and wails.
I can’t stop it. I can’t prevent it. All I can do is cry.
No one understands. There are those that pity, but don’t know how to help. Their sympathy falls flat as they avert their eyes.
Others take this chance to make me feel worse. Their words cut deeper than any sword as they attack me, hurt me, kill me. That’s all anyone ever aims to do. Every word, every sentence, phrase, or paragraph, is just another attack upon my already fragile self.
Everytime I fight, it’s “Just kidding” or “Why are you spazzing?” Are they that horrible to justify their behavior? Is standing up and telling someone how cruel they are a sin now?
I don’t want to be like everyone else. The way they treat each other is absolutely disgusting. I say to myself, “I am ashamed to be a human being” when I see some of the ways some treat others. Fitting in, however, is the only way to stay safe.
I paste on a smile. The smile feels as stiff as rubber, and just as comfortable, and I must force myself to live throughout the day with it on.
I am relieved of the smile when I get home, only to have to put on another mask, one with a stony expression giving away no feelings.
“You’re a failure”, “You’ll never make it in life”, “I’m ashamed of you,” she says. “You’re a miserable human being,” “I can see why no one likes you”. She smiles her smug smile, as if she knows that she has caused a personal blow. I feel a scar develop, and I feel the tears beginning to gather in my eyes. I run upstairs, throw myself onto my bed. My homework isn’t not done, my makeup’s still on, and I’m still in my school clothes. The thoughts play in my head, though, and I can’t lift myself from my bed.
Another day past, another person on the endless list of people who don’t care. Another failure. Another day I could have done something, but didn’t.
I cry myself to sleep.

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