There once was a girl, always happy and smiling. People would comment on her little smile and adorable dimples. She had a huge laugh for a tiny person. But nothing can last forever, right? Her little smile and adorable dimples faded, and her big laugh was silenced.
She was five years old when she began watching her own little brother die; she was seven when it began to get even worse than before. He was basically dead and she'd lost all hope. But he was strong; he made it through. Imagine not knowing if your sibling, parent, or relative was going to make it. That'd mess with your head.
She was young when the bullying started, first with the fat jokes, and then with the claim she was a crybaby. Well, wouldn't you cry if you were watching your sibling, parent, or relative dying in front of you? Wouldn't you cry if you did not know if they were going to make it through the night? The name calling ceased after a while, but there were always whispers. She knew it was happening but never knew what they were saying.
She moved schools and became the stereotypical "new girl." Weird and unknown by all. Nobody really talked to her, although many were very friendly to her. It took a while but she opened up and found some amazing friends. There really was no bullying here, but being the new kid is always rough.
Throughout these years, her parents were always hard on her. She would truly try her hardest, but would not be able to deliver what her parents expected. The low grades got her in trouble and she lied about not knowing because she was scared of the disappointment on her parents' faces when they found out. She couldn't bear knowing how badly she disappointed them. She got in trouble often about it, but she'd still manage to do well enough to pass. Her accomplishments, though, were always overshadowed by those of the older and younger siblings. Unlike her, they were excellent students. They always did better and never seemed to do anything wrong. She was the troubled one. She was the dumb one.
She was lonely during her first year of high school. She knew very few people, and those she did know had their own groups of friends. She was lost and alone in a school of about 1,200 teenagers. It was hard getting used to it, but she did. She found some amazing friends during those four years. Some are still around, while others drifted away. People change, sometimes for the better, other times for the worst. But it is not your choice. She respected the choices of others even if they did not like the choice she had made.
But all the while, something more was happening to her. The summer before her sophomore year, she began self-harming. The sharp blade of a razor would drag across her inside forearm causing all her inner strife to disappear. The feeling of the cold metal cutting into her skin relieved her of all the things that made her feel worthless. The summer progressed and things became worse and worse and then... she was exposed.
Her brother saw the angry red cuts running across her skin. They were about to have dinner when he pointed it out. She tried to shrug it off but she knew everyone was looking at her. Her mother took her arm, examined it and told her to go upstairs. She goes and her mother and father follow. They ask her how long its been going on. She shrugs. They ask why she's doing it. Again she shrugs. They ask if anyone has asked or noticed it at school. She says no. They say that they want to help her, but they are not sure how. They tell her they have been looking at some activities she can try to pass the time, and she does not react. They ask her why and how long again and she does not reply. WE JUST WANT TO HELP, they say loudly, while she continues to sit in silence.
The next week, she was going to therapy. It seemed to help her figure out what was really going wrong in her life. She knew she had to do this to get better, but who said she was not already okay with hating herself? She continued to cut and cut and cut and soon enough she was hiding her entire arm to make sure nobody saw and told anyone. She needed the physical pain to cancel out the mental pain. She needed something to make everything better. The voices in her head were stronger than ever and eventually it became too much. She could not do it anymore, everything was a mess. Everything was crumbling around her. She took a knife to her wrist and cut down as deep as she could. She looked down at the knife and her wrist and saw the blood dripping down her arm and onto the floor. She could barely move.
Everything stopped around her and she saw herself out of her body. She moved around the scene, looking at everything that was happening; the cut was not deep enough, her face was dark and tired looking. She already looked like death. When she was finally able to move again; she went to get bandages and began cleaning up the drips of blood that reached the floor. She couldn't do it. She couldn't end her own crumby life. She began plotting newer, better plans to end her life. While she tried many, none were able to incapacitate her long.
Everyday, she would wake up and wish she had died. She would go to school and pretend everything was alright. She maintained good enough grades so no one would know something was wrong. She even told a few friends what was going on who she knew had or were going through similar things. While some helped, others ran. She knew that would happen. She knew it was too much.
The therapy continued and eventually she was given medication to help her feel less low all the time. She got better and was beginning to feel better about living life. She had a lot to fix but now she was willing and ready to fix it. She would and still does run into very low times, but eventually she gets back up on her feet to fix things.
Things have been looking up for her as of late. Her first year of college has ended and she is looking forward to the next three years she has there. She has supportive and loving friends both at school and at home that she can turn to in times of need and she is on her way towards loving everything about herself. One small step in the right direction is better than a step in the wrong one. Her outlook on life has become more and more positive each day.
The happy, smiling, dimpled, laughing little girl is finally beginning to come back.