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The Chapter of My Life That Didn't End Happily

A Small Piece of Me

I spent most of my senior year in high school losing myself and finding myself again and again. I found happiness in people that would only ever leave me disappointed and empty. That summer I filled the emptiness with alcohol and the pain with ibuprofen. Sometimes, I even mixed the two together to stop the crippling agony in my chest. Even now, in college, I'm doing the same thing. It’s become a mindless repetition, because now they are my crutch. I kiss the boys with more issues than Vogue and fall for the unattainable ones. Most of my friends don't stick around, and the ones that do I push away for fear they will never stay. No one in my life ever has.

My mind lives in fantasy instead of reality. At least I'm happy there. My smile broadens, and my depression grows. I am a shred of the girl I used to be. Some days that really gets to me. “I cry at nothing, and I cry most of the time.” I never allow myself to cry in front of others. Tears and choking sobs are for the pouring rain and scalding showers, where no one can see the agony in my stormy eyes or the crackling in my voice. I used to fear to be alone because I was afraid of what I’d do. Now I know I don’t have to worry because I’m not strong enough to do what needs to be done. They used to say I had ADD, because I always had to be moving or doing something. What they didn’t know was that the constant moving keeps those dangerous thoughts at bay. My mind is my greatest enemy.

I tell myself I’m ugly, stupid, annoying, and will never be loved by anyone; because if I say it to myself it hurts less when others say it to me. I can’t watch chick flicks or movies with happy endings, because I know I’ll never have that. I know that in this life there is only misery and heartbreak. That’s why I close myself away. I place TNT around my heart and watch as it explodes. My blue eyes become grey, my gaze becomes vacant, and my chest is empty. There is nothing left of me. I purged what used to be for fear and heartache overwhelmed me. I know, this will not get better.

I dig myself deeper and deeper until I’m drowning in my own dreams and aspirations. I need a hand, a rope. I need S O M E T H I N G.

A warm palm in closes in mine as I fade in and out. The hand guides me, gently and lovingly. What is this? The arms attached to this soft hand entangle themselves around me in a warm embrace. I feel… home. I am safe. I am in love.

Careful words leave thin lips just as the sweet mind dreams them. My innocence and nativity laps up every delicate word like a dog thirsting for water. He had an affinity for books, even worked at a publishing company. A man after my own heart.

That’s not all he was after.

Stupid. I felt stupid. I gave my all to the first boy to tell me I was beautiful and intelligent. I gave him my mind, my body, my heart, and my soul. His lips breed more lies than the newspapers.

Selfish. Ugly. Cunt. Unworthy of love.

These are his words this time, not mine. Unfortunately, they seemed to stickier than glue as they molded to my brain.

Here I was again. Downing another drink and another and another. Drowning my sorrows, forcing them deep down within me and attempting to seal the lid shut. Not many saw my pain, and those who did? They told me it was nothing. They whispered cliché lies like, “It’ll be okay” or “Time heals all wounds.”

Does it?

It does not.

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