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The Tunnel

By , Defiance, OH

“People cry, not because they are weak.  It’s because they’ve been strong for too long,” said by Johnny Depp. 

 

People go through rough times in their lives, but the hard part is learning how to deal with it and move on.  Running through a tunnel of darkness, I couldn’t find my way out.


A time came in my life when everything became harder and darker every day.  During my eighth grade year, the negatives kept happening, and life felt like too much.  Trying to find a way to break free and explain what I felt seemed next to impossible.  It all started when I lost my best friend.  Losing the one person in life who once knew everything really took a toll on my heart.  Of course, right when life seems to have reached an ultimate low, it becomes a series of unfortunate events, and life decides to give more surprises.  Big events or little, it all adds up.  My heart was a sinking ship.  I began to realize that the feeling of weakness continued happening day after day until weeks became  months.  It felt as if I were screaming for help, but nobody could hear. Feeling lonely, anxious and overwhelmed, I shut everyone out, and I stayed in.  Hating myself became my entire life.  My grades went down, and sports lost their importance to me when they once had been my entire life.  Many asked the simple question, “What’s wrong?” but I could never give a specific answer, which may have been the most frustrating part.  Anxiety kept me lying awake for days.  Not knowing how to explain felt like I had no breath to speak.  This meant no one knew how to help me.  I heard the same confusion from people questioning, “Why are you so sad? You always seem so happy.”  I did act happy around people and always wanted people to enjoy being with me, but the fakeness made it even harder when I was alone. 


My life became constant numbness, and hurting myself became the only way to feel anything.  I had reached an ultimate low and that razor blade dripping with blood became the only time that I could feel something again.  Standing in the shower after school one day, I wondered where I went wrong.  I grabbed the sharp razor blade that was on the ledge next to me and hesitated.  Waiting just one moment realizing how angry I felt, I knew that I could never let anyone know what I was about to do.  With this in mind, I held the sharp blade and gashed my right hip twice.  Watching the blood softly drip down my leg and to the bottom of the shower, and felt a small sense of relief in my throat and chest.  The metallic, pungent smell filled my nostrils. Surprised by the bold color and smell, I watched the bloody water wash away down the drain.  Letting the water fall on my head for another five minutes, I sat on the bottom of the tub with my hands covering my face. Although I was more confused now as ever, I was able to breathe again.  Slowly climbing out of the tub, I dried my hair and my tears.  Looking in the mirror one last time to make sure I had myself together, I went to the dining room with the rest of my family. Sitting in silence and staring at my plate filled with food already, I decided to excuse myself  and wouldn’t talk to anyone until the next day.  Lying in my bed that night, I stares into the darkness that seemed to swallow me.  I lay there paralyzed until the sound of my alarm the next morning.


Several months later a classmate noticed the cuts and bruised scars across my right hip while I was changing for gym class.  The marks on my hip were closer to my stomach now and more noticeable. One on top of another, the cuts were added day after day.  “What happened!” she exclaimed while catching her other friend’s attention.  Not saying anything, I pulled my shorts up as fast as I could, high enough to cover the marks. My mind exploded with thoughts.  I did not expect this day to come that anyone would notice, and I had no idea what to say.  Ignoring them, I ran to the bathroom stall in the back room and slammed the door shut.  I sat frozen on toilet seat until I heard them leave. Despite the fact those girls were concerned and wanting to help, I was humiliated and my face was a furnace of flames.  I was furious because I didn’t want people knowing my secret.  I became embarrassed and knew I was making a mistake but seeing and feeling the gashes were addicting. 


Later that day the guidance counselor called me to her office, and I knew I would be forced to “talk about my problems.”  My only problem at the moment, however, was other people knowing my secret.  “Why would you do this to yourself?” the kind lady questioned me.  Once again, I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling.  As I filled the cold room with tears, she explained that if I didn’t tell my mother what I had done, she would be forced to because of school rules. 


That night I broke my mother's heart into a million pieces, and we both cried for hours.  She squeezed me in her trembling arms and told me she loved me.  Watching my parents eyes fill with tears, and the fact that they were crying because of me, was probably the worst feeling in the world. The next few months consisted of a counselor and being smothered because everyone had to be worried about the depressed girl who might hurt herself.  I then realized that I hurt everyone around me more than I ever hurt myself. Thankfully, I became very close with my mom.  Everything seemed okay with us before, but because of this, I became closer with the one person that I am most similar.


Looking at my scars that were once open wounds, I am able to remind myself that it is possible to find strength when weak.  After once running lost in a long tunnel of darkness, I was able to walk through the other side as a stronger person.






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