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"Do you know how it is waking up every morning to fighting? Or if there isn't a fight waiting for one to erupt? Do you know how it feels to walk on egg shells? Do you know how it feels to wish you were somewhere else than your own home? Do you really know? Or is it just comforting words that have no true feeling in them? Do you know how it is to hide in your room, headphones in, music so high that you feel like your eardrums are going to burst just to not hear those angry words? Do you know how it feels to feel like you will never be able to be happy? Do you know how it feels to go to school and not have your homework completed because you were too stressed out with home to do it? Do you know how it is to keep failing tests because you can't find a quiet place to study?" I typed these words in to my blog. I hesitated hitting enter. I was still scared someone would find out who wrote these sad words. But I knew I had to. I had to tell everyone my story. Maybe I would inspire someone else, or maybe someone could help me. Within 5 minutes, at least 10 kids from my school commented. None of them knew it was I, who posted all these sad stories. All they know is that they were all true. Some kids got on the site just to post mean comments. These kids I knew had their own stories. I never banned anyone. I just simply deleted their comments then messaged them, saying that they were important but so were other people and some comments could hurt someone.
I shut off the computer before I read any comments. I always had to wait until the next day to read the comments. I blogged on Thursdays. Every Thursday around 8:00 pm. I read the comments on Friday nights. At times, I individually respond to every person who comments. People tell me their deepest secrets in complete trust. I've never told a single soul what people tell me on this blog. I have thousands people who read my blog daily. I've made a community for those kids who believe there's no hope for them anymore. I reach multiple countries. My blog has been on the news, yet no one knows who the owner is. I've seen people act like they are me just for some fame. But I have this quiz that only the true owner can pass so that no one is ever able to say it is theirs. My blog is the safest blog ever. Only the government, if even them, can hack my blog. To even edit my blog, myself, I have to type in many codes and answer a question that only I know.
I could be incredibly be famous if someone found out who I am. But who would believe I, the quiet girl who sits in the back of the classroom with only average grades, who gets good grades in English but all her writings are just 'good' or 'O.K.'? But that is who I am. I write all the time but my writings are never good enough to go to contests. Never good enough to be picked to win prizes. Though, in most of my writings I speak the truth. I change details, just to make it seem more like a writing than real life. But I need to clear my head so I can go to sleep. There's a test tomorrow- which I'll most likely fail- but I need a reason to go to bed.
I walk down the stairs quietly, to see who is in the living room. My mom is no where to be found, my step-dad sits there on the couch with another beer in his hand. I try to go through the living room very fast and knock on my mom's door. "Leave your mother alone, she went to bed. But I guess you wouldn't care about her wants or needs, you are just selfish children." I run back up the stairs in tears. You would think that you would get used to the mean words. I've only lived with them for 5 years. I grab my phone and text my mom, "Good night." I lay in bed with the lights turned off and my phone quiet and still on my chest. I'm in tears, there's just too much stress lately. I cry myself to sleep.
I wake up exhausted, I try to catch my breath but I can't. I sit up, trying to relax, trying to get the dream out of my head. I dreamt that my step-dad killed all of my family. My mom was first. She went to bed but in the morning she just didn't wake up, bruises were on her neck, they were in the shape of hands. My older brother was next, he came to wake my mom up before he went to school and my step-dad was waiting with a baseball bat, but he wasn't killed quickly. He had duct tape over his mouth and my step-dad just hit him over and over again and just watched the pain on his face. My little brother was killed in his sleep. A gunshot to the head. I was at a friends house and went to school and when I came home afterwards, my step-dad was just watching TV, stroking the pistol he used to kill my younger brother. He turned towards me, and smiled. His face showed that he was enjoying all of this. I knew what he had done, I turned and ran. I woke up before I even got out of the front door.
I decide to take a shower, so I can act like I got soap in my eyes, if they were all red from crying. I'm sluggish all through the morning. I tell my mom, "good bye." I see there is a new bruise on her leg. She says she doesn't know where they come from, but I think she is lying. I get on the bus, and go to school. I go and sit with my friends. I lean against a wall and try to act like I'm just tired, but the tears just want to spill out. I close my eyes, but as soon as I do this, the bell for first period rings. I go straight to my locker and then to my first period. We have a test today, and I didn't study. I review the material, but I know it's not enough. I don't know any of the answers to the questions. This just adds more stress on me. I turn in the test, knowing I will get a bad grade on the test. I lie my head down and close my eyes until my best friend finishes the test. As soon as she finishes, I pull out a sheet of paper. I tell her that I knew I failed this test. She knows me too well, she knows that the test isn't the only reason why I'm quiet. I tell her I just had nightmares, and my mom and step-dad were fighting a lot again. I might tell her everything, but I just didn't want to bring stuff back up.
The rest of the school day goes slowly. Everything seems emotionally painful. Notes in second period, another day in last chair, another failed test, another day being second best, another day of not being good enough. Just why can't I do good on something? I just want to succeed. My writing is all I have, and that doesn't seem like enough to anyone. They just pick that one guy, because he knows everything and gets straight A's. I'm used to it, why wouldn't I be?
I get home, and go straight to my room saying that I have homework. I lock myself in to my room, and turn on my music on high. It's a Friday night, I have nothing to do, no one to hang out with. I get on Facebook, knowing that there will be no notifications for me. There's one- my cousin wanting me to play some stupid FarmVille game. I surf the Internet for a while. I hear the front door slam shut. That signals that my step-dad is home. I hear him yell at my mom because the living room is a mess. It's mostly his junk, so why doesn't he clean it himself? I hear the door to his bedroom slam shut. Hopefully he went in there and won't be out the rest of the night. But, that would be too good to be true. I hear him yell my brothers' names. He wants them go do some chores. Of course, both my brothers have plans for tonight and don't want to be home doing chores. This starts a fight. It kept escalating, so I left my room, and went to see what was happening. My step-dad and my older brother were 6 inches away from each other, both with fists clenched. My mom steps in between them, but a little too late. My brother hits my step-dad. My step-dad hits back. My mom gets in between them. I push my brother to the stairs. I have to calm him, before he does something stupid. My brother storms out. I know he won't be home tonight. My mom sits on the stairs, sobbing while being yelled at by my step-dad for having such worthless children. My younger brother walks out and goes to a friend's house. I run back upstairs, and turn my music up even higher. But I still hear the fighting. I don't know if it is my imagination, or if it is actually happening.
Of course, my phone is silent. No one ever texts me first. I have to text them, to have an actual conversation, and I have to work hard to keep one. I decide I need some company. I log into my blog. I have to answer the question of "How much would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood." The answer is "A wood chuck would chuck 42 wood chucks." It is such an easy answer but no one has ever hacked my account. There's 200 comments to my last post. There will be many more soon. Not many kids are home yet, so just the insomniacs have posted. I just go through and read the usernames. I've gone through and found out who every single person was. My heart starts to race- my crush commented. "I wish I knew who wrote these posts. Because I have been in love with you ever since I opened the front page of this blog. The love that goes in to these writings, I have never felt before. The connection between you and I, I have never felt before. I wish I could make you open your eyes and see that you are truly beautiful and do not deserve the life that you were given. Just remember that someone does love you, and not to give up." My heart feels like it's going to explode. I shut my laptop and turn my radio even higher. I just want to think about those words until they are stuck in my head forever. I fall asleep with the radio at 50 and those words repeating itself a billion times in my head.
I wake up to slamming doors and yelling. Sirens blare, they're coming closer. I think it's just the everyday fight and my brothers just came home and caused it to worsen. I close my eyes again. The sirens kept coming closer. They've never came this close before. I get up and open the blinds, my windows go to the street out front. There's cops with guns running to the yard. I freak out. I run downstairs. The scene in front of me is terrifying. My older brother has a bloody nose and a black eye- a cop is putting him in to handcuffs. My mom is on the ground unconscious, I run to her. She's breathing fine but she has a bruise on her forehead. I hear an ambulance come up. Paramedics run towards us. They ask me what happened. I just shake my head and mutter "I don't know." They tell me to back away, they need to work on her. I'm shaking, I've shook when my step-dad and mom have fought but I cannot stop this time. I'm scared out of my mind. How could I be asleep and not have heard what was happening right down- stairs in my own living room? I see my step-dad no where. I wonder if he was the one who did this. Of course, he is. He doesn't like us. He rather us suffer than be happy. A cop comes in, and throws his jacket over me. He picks me up off the ground like I'm a 4 year old, I let him, I'm washed of all emotions. The cops arms are strong, and I feel safe in his arms, I feel like nothing can hurt me while I'm here. But the feeling soon ends. He puts me in to the back of a cop car. I lay my head against the window, and close my eyes, trying not to think. Even though I had slept for a few hours, I feel no energy. I pass out.
I wake up in a place, I've only seen in my dreams. I get scared. There's no one around. There's only white walls around me. A man, dressed in a suit, opens a hidden door in the wall to my left. I press against the wall. I don't want to talk to anyone. I want all of this to just be a dream. My mom and older brother are just at home, downstairs, drinking coffee and getting ready for the day. A woman, dressed casually walks in behind the man and whispers in his ear and hands him a laptop. It looks like the one, I own. It's the newest Dell laptop. It's a very high value. $1,000 with out the additional services. I've spent at $2,000 on that laptop, and where was it now? Was I ever going to get it back? The man walks to the table in the middle of the room. It's one of those cold, metal tables that you would see in a interrogation rooms. Are they going to interrogate me about what happened? I didn't see anything so what good is it to keep me in this white room? I wonder, if this is actually an asylum and they think I'm going to get suicidal tendencies.
I walk towards the man, slowly. I look at the laptop he is using. It has a crack alike the one on mine. In the same place. I get suspicious. "Is that my laptop?" I put as much hostility in my voice as possible.
"Yes, it is," the man said, almost like he didn't have my whole life at his fingertips. He typed quickly. I walked around him. I stood behind him and looked at what he was doing. He was on my blog. He accessed my account. How could he do this? No one could. The I remembered last night. I forgot to sign out. How could I be so forgetful?
"What are you doing? We live in America, you can't go snooping around my computer without permission." I said, the disgust was very present. No one could doubt that I hated this man already and he has only said a few words to me.
"I am part of the FBI. You are just a teenager from a small town, no one really cares if you don't want us to go through your laptop." He growled. He almost sounded like the dog I had when I was 5.
"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! Can I have your autograph?" I say in a high fan-girl voice. "I still don't care. I want an official not some schmo that they found on the street that could look official."
"Well, aren't you just a pleasant little thing? Your words don't hurt me. I've been called worse by scarier people," he retorted. He kept on typing. I couldn't tell what he was doing. Binary code was flying by. I couldn't read it fast enough.
"I can destroy your career and your reputation in just a few minutes. You should be scared of me. I might not look scary, but I can be scary. I can find your worse nightmares and use them against you. I can destroy you in a few keystrokes."
"Such big words for such an amateur. And look who has the laptop." He said boldly. I look around