Misfit

When I first moved to Tallahassee from Dolores, Colorado, I thought life was going to be better for me. Boy, was I ever wrong!

It started out good, as most things do everything got a little too fucked up. I made enemies and they... well they took things a little too far.

Honestly, I don't ever think I was trying to kill myself. But once you've endured so much pain, to keep going would be impossible. And I knew that if it ever got to the point where my life was in question, I wouldn't care. I didn't care about living because I had nothing to live for. I didn't care about breathing because the oxygen stopped being breathable. I didn't care about trying because I always failed. I definitely didn't care about writing because for once, I had nothing to write about.

They say that it's your choice to believe what people are telling you... but once the simple words, "you're nothing," have been beat into your head a million times over, you start to believe it. Maybe that's why I did what I did. Maybe that's why I stopped caring... because the world stopped caring about me. I had never had a chance to start over but that wasn't my goal. Before I knew it, the only thing I could stand to write about was the beginning of my ending and the climactic events that caused it all.

One out of every four teens will be bullied. About 160,000 students across the U.S stay home on any given day because they're afraid of being bullied. Two hundred and eighty-two thousand students are physically assaulted in secondary schools every month. Eighty percent of the time, arguments with bullies escalate into a fight. Every seven minutes, another child is bullied. There's also the too-large percent of us who are suicidal.

I may not be the worst kid with problems but in my mind, I make top ten. Every day... I feel homesick for a place that doesn't exist. My safe haven. People tell me to stay strong but they don't understand that the most important battle... the one inside my head, I've already lost it.
I don't believe a person can die from suicide, because the sadness is the actual cause. And the worst part of sadness is that, usually, you can't even remember what makes you happy anymore. Secrets are the basis of sadness, I'm sure. If you keep it inside, it'll tear every part of love from your body. Some secrets are made to be kept. But it's hard to keep a secret when it's written all over your body.

Suicide... is the only permanent way to run away from my problems.

But it's not suicide if my mind is already dead.

Then, all I am...

Is...

Empty.

Notes