"Stupid. Fat. Cow. Ugly. Die." They call me as I walk down the hall. I keep my head high, the fake smile on my face, keeping my fascade; pretending not to be bothered with it. But, the truth is, it hurts. They stick into my head and repeat like a broken record. The words cut into me like knives and scar me, leave me bruised and pained for days. They don't know about the scars on my heart, let alone the scars on my arms and wrists. They wouldn't care if I told them, anyway. They're too busy getting a good laugh to even think about how it makes me feel.
At home it's just the same. I say a quick "Hi" to mother, then run up to the safeties of my room before the empty whickey bottle in her hands collides with my head, again. When Im up in my room, I lock the door and blast the first song that comes on, not even caring what it is. Then, I let it all out. I let the fascade go, the fake smile go, and let the walls crumble. I let the tears that have been trapped behind the wall seep and flow freely; letting all emotions out. I scream and cry, "What did I do to deserve this?"
I grab my "Special healer," and guide it down my arm, making a perfect cut, letting all my pain the hurt, everything out in a thick, deep red that travels quickly down my arm and hits the white carpet. It's not gone, though. Their words, still the same broken record, let tears fall all over again, "Stupid. Fat. Ugly. Cow. Die," until I start to believe them. I am stupid. I am fat. I am ugly. I am a cow. I should die.
I run to the bathroom and grab my mother's Xanax, which isn't prescribed to her, and take out ten of the long, white pills; this should hopefully do it.
I take them all at once, and wait. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes, and the beautiful drug kicks in, the power of it taking me by surprise.
Dying is such a weird feeling. It makes you feel light and weightless, proving to everyone that you're not a fat cow. You feel beautiful, proving that you're not ugly. You feel smart for finally giving people what they want. But, at the same time, you feel heavy and drowsy, which makes you agree that you're fat. You feel terrible, showong them you are ugly. You feel stupid for leaving the people that love you and then even more stupid when you realize no one loves you. I fall to the ground, at least I think I do, because I don't feel it; im down too deep for pain. I see someone grabbing out to me, but I can't lift my hand up.
At last, I close my eyes and sleep eternally, happy to show them what words can do, because our wish has been granted.