Gone and Forgotten
So here I am, alone in my room with a large hardback book open in front of me. I am supposed to be reading, well that's what everyone thinks I’m doing. Yes, I am looking at the pages; and reading the words, but does that mean I am actually reading? I am thinking, in an effort to find myself. It’s not working. I need it to work because I am afraid that I’m not who I am supposed to be. Like, you know those commercials where the people look in the mirror and say that they don’t see themselves, it’s not the real them. I fear that. Anxiety overwhelms me and I worry, and I worry. I want to fulfill life. When I am dead, I want to be content with the life that I lived. I have goals and I’m afraid I won’t meet them. Failing is scary. I feel like I need a map, so I don’t have to wonder where I’m going. If I make a bad decision or a wrong turn, I want to know. I need to go the right way; I need assurance that I am not a failure. I have had the opportunity to live a privileged life, but I am scared that I will give it all away. By failing, or letting the fear get the best of me. I’ve always been that girl, hidden away in their room, does my homework, gets good grades, I don’t handle balls very well, so you can assume I’m not the “sporty” type. Ew, why do I make myself sound so “High School Musical”. It’s not like I want to die, I am just not content with who I am. I want to change and I know I can change, so there’s absolutely no need for death. I just wish for a different body, a different life. Not no life, I want the privilege of a life.
We’re all fake people and we will never tell the truth about ourselves because the truth is too scary for anyone to begin to comprehend. But me, I’m not afraid. You want the truth? Well here it is and I’m not afraid to be scared of it, I am lost. And I am terrified, but aren't we all? This world is scary and we can’t help it. Our only option is to ignore it. We don’t get a choice in the matter. Whoops, sorry, deal with it. And that’s almost life in a nutshell.
‘Wake up, wake up’. I know I have to get up, but I really don’t want to. I flutter my eyes open only to see a mass of white outside the window. ‘Snow, great.’ I think, rolling my eyes. A wift of coffee and bacon fills my senses. I groan, a loud groan, an unpleasant groan. A teenage groan nonetheless. Yes I’m 17, but I'm basically 40. I have the knowledge of a 40 year old collected from the public library three blocks away. I roll over, one of those rolling-down-a-grass-hill-at-the-park rolls. I see the handful of books that had once been on my desk, now scattered on the floor. I feel another groan growing inside of me. A deep bellow fills my ears. I know it's time to get up.
I take a quick peek into the mirror. My cropped streaky brown hair doesn’t even fit in a bun, so it’s down in a fluffy mess. My subtle green eyes stare back at me, looking me up and down inspecting the person I’m supposed to be. This is Mia, but am I Mia?
I hop in the shower, I decide to shave my legs just in case I want to wear a skirt which is pretty stupid considering it’s 40°. Do I even own a skirt? I pick up the razor and it slides across my skin smoothly.
¨Shit!¨ A short sting creeps down my leg. A single drop of red blood drips down, leaving a trail along my skin. Faint blood circles down the drain with the water sprinkling down from the faucet. The bleeding continues creating more blood than expected from just a knick. I run it directly under the water to create more pressure, hoping the bleeding will stop. It works for a while but then it starts seeping blood again, more than before. It’s thick blood now, almost creamy. It doesn’t circle down the drain as easily. I start to get worried then remember I can’t be late for school because I have an AP World History test this morning. I rush out of the shower, throwing on a heather grey knit sweater hanging on the back of my door, conveniently my favorite color. I go with pants, the usual. I just thought that maybe today would be different, I would choose something unique. Instead, I chose to be basic and ordinary, again.
I walk past Mom and Dad at the breakfast table. Just sipping their coffee and reading the paper like normal people, straight out of a movie. Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I just be normal?!? “Mia, you are normal,” I tell myself. Am I?
With a slam, the door shut behind me, and I make the trek to my car. A cold breeze wafts over me making me shiver a bit. Careful steps not to slip on the icy ground. Maysville is a beautiful place, but can be a bit inconvenient when you’re late. Cuddling into my black Mazda, forcing the knob for the heater all the way to the left. It’s been snowing since the end of October.
Taking the same route that I take everyday to school. Routine, it seems to reliable in lives like mine.
I storm into the school with a quick pace, worrying I’ll be late.
¨Hi Ashley,” I say in a hurry as I rush past her to get to class before the bell. Ashley has been my best friend since, like forever. I love her to death and we are like the full-on poster ‘high school girl friendship’. We hang out all the time, have slumber parties, Ashley can’t wait to talk about her boy drama, and we talk the most shit in the school. But I’m more of the behind-the-scenes girl, Ashley usually gets most the attention. It doesn’t bother me or anything. Honestly, I don’t even care.
“Hey Mi-Mi!” I hear her say in response in the distance while I’m, literally, running down the hall. She always has some cute nickname for me.
I sneak into the classroom and slide into my seat in unison with the tardy bell.
At lunch, I hurried to the cafeteria to catch up on anything and everything with Ashley.
School was okay, but I’ve noticed that life has kind of just been ‘okay’ lately. The reality is, life has and is always just ‘okay’. With my undetermined mindset, I commuted home.
I was in the kitchen grabbing a snack when Timmy looked at me with his big eyes, freckles pleading, his dumbo ears flapped in
anticipation-
“Please, oh please, oh please”
“No, I can’t take you to the park today buddy.”
“Why?”
“I have homework,” a convenient excuse for everything these days, “ask dad.”
Mom came home and started dinner in the kitchen. Dad returned from work with a whack of the door. He played catch with Timmy in the front yard just before dark. Dinner was nothing special, lasagna and I soon fell asleep with a book in hand.
The storm had filled the streets last night and a gloomy sky was visible from outside the window. I woke up angry and I had my period last week so this was peculiar. And I mean, seriously angry. It felt good though, I was able to demonstrate my feelings and it was freeing. I decided to embrace it, but I was going to stay on my toes. I didn’t to get too invested, so I attempted to ignore it for the next few days, but it haunted me day and night. I yelled at two of my teachers, I ignored my mom, I even flipped off dad, blew off most of my homework, I even forgot about all my books, and that’s just this week alone.
Timmy had been bugging me about taking him to the park. I loved Timmy so dearly, but he had to go. His tremendous ears started taunting me. His ginger Bieber haircut had me unsteady. He just kept flipping it and flipping it. Rolling his eyes as he shoved his hair to the side. I pushed my blood-thirsty thoughts away, but he just kept flipping it and flipping it. His freckles turned redder and redder every passing day which just made my thoughts grow. I looked at him differently now. It’s not him that changed, it was me. As if I had put on glasses, I had new lenses to see him through. Now I saw myself holding back the eager whenever we were close. I couldn’t take it anymore, I wanted it too bad.
One day after school, I had taken little Timmy to the park. He had fun playing with his ball with the other kids. I just watched, it was a little of a tease. On the way back home, I decided to take a detour, through the trees. Little Timmy, with his innocent eyes, just smiling his crooked smile. This wasn’t a murder, I just got a little hungry. Jimmy’s flesh drowned in blood. I wasn’t doing anything bad. Jimmy was the bad one. He didn’t deserve a life. Life is special, and he was not. I was just serving justice. That’s right, justice. This had to be done and I’m the only one who can do it. I’m not bad. I’m doing the right thing here. I'm always right. I have to be right!
I made sure to brush my teeth real hard before my parents got home. I didn’t want them to smell any of the remnants of little Timmy. Mom cooked dinner and I invented a genius excuse for Timmy.
¨Where is Timmy?¨
¨Oh, he’s at a friend’s house.¨
¨And who is that friend exactly?¨ Jeez, dad is so annoying.
¨Um, a boy from school, uh, Jimmy I think. He’s sleeping over there.” Was that convincing enough? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, they’re on to me. I guess I’ll just have to deal with them tomorrow. I had a good night’s sleep and I had a delicious feeling that something good was going to happen tomorrow.
I was back at school and it wasn’t as bad as it usually is. It felt good to be in control of my own life again. I wasn’t a suck-up, ass-kisser anymore. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. But since I had had my turn, I knew Ashley could sense something odd.
“You don’t seem normal, you’re acting different...”, what does Ashley know, she never pays any attention to me anyway.
I decided to respond kindly so she wouldn’t get too suspicious, “I’m fine. Must be your imagination.” That was the greatest white lie I’ve ever told because the truth was, I was glorious. Feeling better than I had my whole life. The changing had really worked on me, I wasn't an experimental failure like the others. In fact, a success, better than all of them.
I was still spending my time with Ashley at school, but lately she had been really annoying. Ashley had always gotten guys. She had her first boyfriend in sixth grade and it seemed like they never stopped coming. Currently, she was fielding offers in the men's department. I’m obviously not jealous. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but that doesn’t really matter anyway cause I’m not jealous. We’ve been best friends since the fourth grade, but I still feel like I come second. I’m not jealous, I’m not. She has the nose ring that everyone thinks is so cool. And the makeup, and the tight clothes, and the brown hair with brown eyes. And then she wears the beanies that she looks adorable in. Really, I’m not jealous. She smiles, and her dimples show up. I’m not jealous. I’m not. I'm not.
I walk into the cafeteria only to find a boy sitting in my spot right next to Ashley. We have sat at that table since freshman year. That’s our table, my table. Still not jealous though. I guess I should be used to it by now. When Ashley is interested in a boy, the boy gets all the attention. I guess my books fill the void when Ashley is preoccupied. She goes through them quickly though, it never lasts. She fixes her hair, batters her lashes, and pouts her lips. Normally, I would say ‘Okay, time to go sit in the bathroom and pull out my book.’ (I know it’s sad, but I guess I kind of like it in an odd way. I get to be alone and at peace. It makes me feel like a girl in a movie. It makes me feel okay. Yes, I do, I really do like it.) But, not this time, I got that feeling again. Rage? I like it. It makes me feel in control. I can do what I want, and suddenly something gives me, physically gives me the power to do it. Dominant and robust. I feel a sudden surge of courage and stomp right over to her. My red sneakers squeaking in a frenzy of anticipation.
“I need to talk to you.” I say evenly in an effort to calm myself down. Didn’t work.
“Mia, I’ll talk to you after lunch” That bitch.
“Now” I demand. I grab her by the arm and hoist her up. I basically drag her out of the cafeteria, her clearly unwilling.
I find a spot around the corner, outside of the school. This feels vulgar but I’m channeling this anger that I never even knew was there. I didn’t feel free. I didn’t feel calm. As if it wasn’t even helping. But I felt vigorous and alive, so I couldn’t stop myself. I told myself it didn’t feel wrong, it felt right. It is right. Is it? She deserves it, the way she’s treated me all these years. Second hand, unimportant. She’s the princess and I’m the maid. The worst part is, she even made me believe it myself. It’s all her fault, all of it. I blame everything on her because she’s the only one to blame. Not me, her.
I started in at her throat so she couldn’t scream when I devoured her petite frame. I was clearly smaller than her, but it didn’t matter. Something else gave me power and dominance. Blood was splattered on the window outside of school, behind the bushes to be discreet. I was getting good at this whole thing. I thought I could actually do this. I wiped my mouth. ‘I’m not bad’. I looked thoroughly at myself in the reflecting window. Really took a good look at the girl I’ve become. ‘Is this what I really want? Is this who I want to be?’
I killed my best friend. I grew up with her, told her all my secrets. She was my person. Even if she wasn't the greatest, she was there. I can’t believe I did this. But they told me not to regret it, so I don’t, I can’t. I stand by my actions. I did it for myself.
“What are you doing?!??!?!?” an honest girl shrieks horrified. ‘What am I doing’
Little had I known at the time, this was supposed to be my intervention. I should’ve stopped myself. It was enough and this had to end. The girl ran off, but her words had soaked in and I was thinking, really thinking. I had turned into a monster, but I already was one. We are all monsters and we are just trying to make our way through life. Life should be something we enjoy, we were blessed with it, why can’t we live in the happiness? Instead, life is a challenge for most. I was trying to find myself. Plans didn’t go as expected, and instead of finding myself, I created someone else. Am I just supposed to accept this new person into my life? I should be horrified of what I’ve done. But the weird thing is, I’m not.
I’ve blamed my mistakes on the people around me, but the real problem is me. I’m wrong. I’m a mistake. In the bliss of it all, I’m unimportant. Sure, I’m the focus in my life and a supporting role in a few others, but I don’t matter in the end. There’s no purpose for me here and I’ve just caused problems. A lot of people probably feel like this, but they have made no greater mistake than I. Forgive yourself, for I can not. I’m disgusting and I’ve made a mess. I feel a great deal of sorrow. I do not want to give up this life, I like this life, I want to live this life, but I’m afraid that I’ll waste the privilege of actually living. But, that sounds stupid, because living isn’t hard, you just have eat food, drink water, and breathe(which is already being taken care of by my HEALTHY lungs). Why would I give up my beautiful beating heart? I am privileged enough to have a heart, why do I want to give it away. See, I know how stupid it is to give up life, but why do I still want to die? Because I deserve to die. I should no longer be welcome, close your arms and turn your head. I’m bad. And I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to be bad, and I almost made myself believe that I wasn’t. Don’t forgive me, I’m barely even human. My reflection has shattered. I’m bad. I’m bad. I’m evil and vicious. I’m rotten and diseased. I am bad.
I talk to myself because I think it will make me feel better about what I’ve done.The little chatter in my head. It’s not deranged. In fact, normal. The most sane thing about me. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m crazy, and it’s horrible that this is just dawning upon me now.
I raced to my car. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Deep inhale. ¨Whoosh¨ I’m sorry. Small breath out. I’m not a crier, I promise. But somehow a single tear found its way down my cheek. I got that feeling that you know you’re going to cry and you don’t really want to, but it hurts, it hurts really, really bad. Your chest tightens. Oh god. Feels like tuberculosis is accumulating inside of me. As if fungus is growing in my throat. I cringe. Shoving the keys into the ignition and the car jerks back. I take a short breath out.
¨Huff¨… Silence. I rush out of the lot. Hot tears like a boiling pot of water. I know it’s bad to drive angry. I stuff my hand in my face like a single mother stressed to pay the bills. I don’t cry. I won’t cry. I open the window as if throwing away my tears, the garbage. Then a wispy wind forced itself inside the car, stinging my face. Clicked the button. A piercing, callous sound like a glass shower door being squeegeed.
I drove down a long narrow road. I’m not sure why, all I know is that I feel lost in this big world, and lost is the scariest thing to be. That’s it, I’m scared. I am scared. Fear controls my life, and I just sit back and let it.
The car races along.
Fear controls everyone’s life. I thought that I changed, but it didn’t change the ways of the world. Before, I was scared that I was depressed and that I really wasn’t okay even though I always said I was because there’s really no other way to answer that question. But I’m not okay, I’m not. We are all afraid. Whether it’s bugs, or heights, or fires, or rain, or loneliness, or your own dad. We are afraid. That’s what puts our lives inside of a box. A box that controls our actions and words.
The ground is icy on the outskirts of Maysville. I feel the tires sliding, parting their own ways.
Make your own actions and say your own words.
There is a curve in the road and as I strategically make a turn in the steering wheel, the tires decide to make their own path.
So here are my words:
A big oak stands in front of me now and the snow just off the road isn’t enough buffer to slow down the Mazda.
¨I’m sorry.¨
We’re all fake people and we will never tell the truth about ourselves because the truth is too scary for anyone to begin to comprehend. But me, I’m not afraid. You want the truth? Well here it is and I’m not afraid to be scared of it, I am lost. And I am terrified, but aren't we all? This world is scary and we can’t help it. Our only option is to ignore it. We don’t get a choice in the matter. Whoops, sorry, deal with it. And that’s almost life in a nutshell.
‘Wake up, wake up’. I know I have to get up, but I really don’t want to. I flutter my eyes open only to see a mass of white outside the window. ‘Snow, great.’ I think, rolling my eyes. A wift of coffee and bacon fills my senses. I groan, a loud groan, an unpleasant groan. A teenage groan nonetheless. Yes I’m 17, but I'm basically 40. I have the knowledge of a 40 year old collected from the public library three blocks away. I roll over, one of those rolling-down-a-grass-hill-at-the-park rolls. I see the handful of books that had once been on my desk, now scattered on the floor. I feel another groan growing inside of me. A deep bellow fills my ears. I know it's time to get up.
I take a quick peek into the mirror. My cropped streaky brown hair doesn’t even fit in a bun, so it’s down in a fluffy mess. My subtle green eyes stare back at me, looking me up and down inspecting the person I’m supposed to be. This is Mia, but am I Mia?
I hop in the shower, I decide to shave my legs just in case I want to wear a skirt which is pretty stupid considering it’s 40°. Do I even own a skirt? I pick up the razor and it slides across my skin smoothly.
¨Shit!¨ A short sting creeps down my leg. A single drop of red blood drips down, leaving a trail along my skin. Faint blood circles down the drain with the water sprinkling down from the faucet. The bleeding continues creating more blood than expected from just a knick. I run it directly under the water to create more pressure, hoping the bleeding will stop. It works for a while but then it starts seeping blood again, more than before. It’s thick blood now, almost creamy. It doesn’t circle down the drain as easily. I start to get worried then remember I can’t be late for school because I have an AP World History test this morning. I rush out of the shower, throwing on a heather grey knit sweater hanging on the back of my door, conveniently my favorite color. I go with pants, the usual. I just thought that maybe today would be different, I would choose something unique. Instead, I chose to be basic and ordinary, again.
I walk past Mom and Dad at the breakfast table. Just sipping their coffee and reading the paper like normal people, straight out of a movie. Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I just be normal?!? “Mia, you are normal,” I tell myself. Am I?
With a slam, the door shut behind me, and I make the trek to my car. A cold breeze wafts over me making me shiver a bit. Careful steps not to slip on the icy ground. Maysville is a beautiful place, but can be a bit inconvenient when you’re late. Cuddling into my black Mazda, forcing the knob for the heater all the way to the left. It’s been snowing since the end of October.
Taking the same route that I take everyday to school. Routine, it seems to reliable in lives like mine.
I storm into the school with a quick pace, worrying I’ll be late.
¨Hi Ashley,” I say in a hurry as I rush past her to get to class before the bell. Ashley has been my best friend since, like forever. I love her to death and we are like the full-on poster ‘high school girl friendship’. We hang out all the time, have slumber parties, Ashley can’t wait to talk about her boy drama, and we talk the most shit in the school. But I’m more of the behind-the-scenes girl, Ashley usually gets most the attention. It doesn’t bother me or anything. Honestly, I don’t even care.
“Hey Mi-Mi!” I hear her say in response in the distance while I’m, literally, running down the hall. She always has some cute nickname for me.
I sneak into the classroom and slide into my seat in unison with the tardy bell.
At lunch, I hurried to the cafeteria to catch up on anything and everything with Ashley.
School was okay, but I’ve noticed that life has kind of just been ‘okay’ lately. The reality is, life has and is always just ‘okay’. With my undetermined mindset, I commuted home.
I was in the kitchen grabbing a snack when Timmy looked at me with his big eyes, freckles pleading, his dumbo ears flapped in
anticipation-
“Please, oh please, oh please”
“No, I can’t take you to the park today buddy.”
“Why?”
“I have homework,” a convenient excuse for everything these days, “ask dad.”
Mom came home and started dinner in the kitchen. Dad returned from work with a whack of the door. He played catch with Timmy in the front yard just before dark. Dinner was nothing special, lasagna and I soon fell asleep with a book in hand.
The storm had filled the streets last night and a gloomy sky was visible from outside the window. I woke up angry and I had my period last week so this was peculiar. And I mean, seriously angry. It felt good though, I was able to demonstrate my feelings and it was freeing. I decided to embrace it, but I was going to stay on my toes. I didn’t to get too invested, so I attempted to ignore it for the next few days, but it haunted me day and night. I yelled at two of my teachers, I ignored my mom, I even flipped off dad, blew off most of my homework, I even forgot about all my books, and that’s just this week alone.
Timmy had been bugging me about taking him to the park. I loved Timmy so dearly, but he had to go. His tremendous ears started taunting me. His ginger Bieber haircut had me unsteady. He just kept flipping it and flipping it. Rolling his eyes as he shoved his hair to the side. I pushed my blood-thirsty thoughts away, but he just kept flipping it and flipping it. His freckles turned redder and redder every passing day which just made my thoughts grow. I looked at him differently now. It’s not him that changed, it was me. As if I had put on glasses, I had new lenses to see him through. Now I saw myself holding back the eager whenever we were close. I couldn’t take it anymore, I wanted it too bad.
One day after school, I had taken little Timmy to the park. He had fun playing with his ball with the other kids. I just watched, it was a little of a tease. On the way back home, I decided to take a detour, through the trees. Little Timmy, with his innocent eyes, just smiling his crooked smile. This wasn’t a murder, I just got a little hungry. Jimmy’s flesh drowned in blood. I wasn’t doing anything bad. Jimmy was the bad one. He didn’t deserve a life. Life is special, and he was not. I was just serving justice. That’s right, justice. This had to be done and I’m the only one who can do it. I’m not bad. I’m doing the right thing here. I'm always right. I have to be right!
I made sure to brush my teeth real hard before my parents got home. I didn’t want them to smell any of the remnants of little Timmy. Mom cooked dinner and I invented a genius excuse for Timmy.
¨Where is Timmy?¨
¨Oh, he’s at a friend’s house.¨
¨And who is that friend exactly?¨ Jeez, dad is so annoying.
¨Um, a boy from school, uh, Jimmy I think. He’s sleeping over there.” Was that convincing enough? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, they’re on to me. I guess I’ll just have to deal with them tomorrow. I had a good night’s sleep and I had a delicious feeling that something good was going to happen tomorrow.
I was back at school and it wasn’t as bad as it usually is. It felt good to be in control of my own life again. I wasn’t a suck-up, ass-kisser anymore. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. But since I had had my turn, I knew Ashley could sense something odd.
“You don’t seem normal, you’re acting different...”, what does Ashley know, she never pays any attention to me anyway.
I decided to respond kindly so she wouldn’t get too suspicious, “I’m fine. Must be your imagination.” That was the greatest white lie I’ve ever told because the truth was, I was glorious. Feeling better than I had my whole life. The changing had really worked on me, I wasn't an experimental failure like the others. In fact, a success, better than all of them.
I was still spending my time with Ashley at school, but lately she had been really annoying. Ashley had always gotten guys. She had her first boyfriend in sixth grade and it seemed like they never stopped coming. Currently, she was fielding offers in the men's department. I’m obviously not jealous. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but that doesn’t really matter anyway cause I’m not jealous. We’ve been best friends since the fourth grade, but I still feel like I come second. I’m not jealous, I’m not. She has the nose ring that everyone thinks is so cool. And the makeup, and the tight clothes, and the brown hair with brown eyes. And then she wears the beanies that she looks adorable in. Really, I’m not jealous. She smiles, and her dimples show up. I’m not jealous. I’m not. I'm not.
I walk into the cafeteria only to find a boy sitting in my spot right next to Ashley. We have sat at that table since freshman year. That’s our table, my table. Still not jealous though. I guess I should be used to it by now. When Ashley is interested in a boy, the boy gets all the attention. I guess my books fill the void when Ashley is preoccupied. She goes through them quickly though, it never lasts. She fixes her hair, batters her lashes, and pouts her lips. Normally, I would say ‘Okay, time to go sit in the bathroom and pull out my book.’ (I know it’s sad, but I guess I kind of like it in an odd way. I get to be alone and at peace. It makes me feel like a girl in a movie. It makes me feel okay. Yes, I do, I really do like it.) But, not this time, I got that feeling again. Rage? I like it. It makes me feel in control. I can do what I want, and suddenly something gives me, physically gives me the power to do it. Dominant and robust. I feel a sudden surge of courage and stomp right over to her. My red sneakers squeaking in a frenzy of anticipation.
“I need to talk to you.” I say evenly in an effort to calm myself down. Didn’t work.
“Mia, I’ll talk to you after lunch” That bitch.
“Now” I demand. I grab her by the arm and hoist her up. I basically drag her out of the cafeteria, her clearly unwilling.
I find a spot around the corner, outside of the school. This feels vulgar but I’m channeling this anger that I never even knew was there. I didn’t feel free. I didn’t feel calm. As if it wasn’t even helping. But I felt vigorous and alive, so I couldn’t stop myself. I told myself it didn’t feel wrong, it felt right. It is right. Is it? She deserves it, the way she’s treated me all these years. Second hand, unimportant. She’s the princess and I’m the maid. The worst part is, she even made me believe it myself. It’s all her fault, all of it. I blame everything on her because she’s the only one to blame. Not me, her.
I started in at her throat so she couldn’t scream when I devoured her petite frame. I was clearly smaller than her, but it didn’t matter. Something else gave me power and dominance. Blood was splattered on the window outside of school, behind the bushes to be discreet. I was getting good at this whole thing. I thought I could actually do this. I wiped my mouth. ‘I’m not bad’. I looked thoroughly at myself in the reflecting window. Really took a good look at the girl I’ve become. ‘Is this what I really want? Is this who I want to be?’
I killed my best friend. I grew up with her, told her all my secrets. She was my person. Even if she wasn't the greatest, she was there. I can’t believe I did this. But they told me not to regret it, so I don’t, I can’t. I stand by my actions. I did it for myself.
“What are you doing?!??!?!?” an honest girl shrieks horrified. ‘What am I doing’
Little had I known at the time, this was supposed to be my intervention. I should’ve stopped myself. It was enough and this had to end. The girl ran off, but her words had soaked in and I was thinking, really thinking. I had turned into a monster, but I already was one. We are all monsters and we are just trying to make our way through life. Life should be something we enjoy, we were blessed with it, why can’t we live in the happiness? Instead, life is a challenge for most. I was trying to find myself. Plans didn’t go as expected, and instead of finding myself, I created someone else. Am I just supposed to accept this new person into my life? I should be horrified of what I’ve done. But the weird thing is, I’m not.
I’ve blamed my mistakes on the people around me, but the real problem is me. I’m wrong. I’m a mistake. In the bliss of it all, I’m unimportant. Sure, I’m the focus in my life and a supporting role in a few others, but I don’t matter in the end. There’s no purpose for me here and I’ve just caused problems. A lot of people probably feel like this, but they have made no greater mistake than I. Forgive yourself, for I can not. I’m disgusting and I’ve made a mess. I feel a great deal of sorrow. I do not want to give up this life, I like this life, I want to live this life, but I’m afraid that I’ll waste the privilege of actually living. But, that sounds stupid, because living isn’t hard, you just have eat food, drink water, and breathe(which is already being taken care of by my HEALTHY lungs). Why would I give up my beautiful beating heart? I am privileged enough to have a heart, why do I want to give it away. See, I know how stupid it is to give up life, but why do I still want to die? Because I deserve to die. I should no longer be welcome, close your arms and turn your head. I’m bad. And I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to be bad, and I almost made myself believe that I wasn’t. Don’t forgive me, I’m barely even human. My reflection has shattered. I’m bad. I’m bad. I’m evil and vicious. I’m rotten and diseased. I am bad.
I talk to myself because I think it will make me feel better about what I’ve done.The little chatter in my head. It’s not deranged. In fact, normal. The most sane thing about me. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m crazy, and it’s horrible that this is just dawning upon me now.
I raced to my car. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Deep inhale. ¨Whoosh¨ I’m sorry. Small breath out. I’m not a crier, I promise. But somehow a single tear found its way down my cheek. I got that feeling that you know you’re going to cry and you don’t really want to, but it hurts, it hurts really, really bad. Your chest tightens. Oh god. Feels like tuberculosis is accumulating inside of me. As if fungus is growing in my throat. I cringe. Shoving the keys into the ignition and the car jerks back. I take a short breath out.
¨Huff¨… Silence. I rush out of the lot. Hot tears like a boiling pot of water. I know it’s bad to drive angry. I stuff my hand in my face like a single mother stressed to pay the bills. I don’t cry. I won’t cry. I open the window as if throwing away my tears, the garbage. Then a wispy wind forced itself inside the car, stinging my face. Clicked the button. A piercing, callous sound like a glass shower door being squeegeed.
I drove down a long narrow road. I’m not sure why, all I know is that I feel lost in this big world, and lost is the scariest thing to be. That’s it, I’m scared. I am scared. Fear controls my life, and I just sit back and let it.
The car races along.
Fear controls everyone’s life. I thought that I changed, but it didn’t change the ways of the world. Before, I was scared that I was depressed and that I really wasn’t okay even though I always said I was because there’s really no other way to answer that question. But I’m not okay, I’m not. We are all afraid. Whether it’s bugs, or heights, or fires, or rain, or loneliness, or your own dad. We are afraid. That’s what puts our lives inside of a box. A box that controls our actions and words.
The ground is icy on the outskirts of Maysville. I feel the tires sliding, parting their own ways.
Make your own actions and say your own words.
There is a curve in the road and as I strategically make a turn in the steering wheel, the tires decide to make their own path.
So here are my words:
A big oak stands in front of me now and the snow just off the road isn’t enough buffer to slow down the Mazda.
¨I’m sorry.¨