I was in my 7th grade year. I walked into class with drowsy eyes, a messy head of hair, and sweats on. It has already been a long morning. I sat down at my seat, immediately I heard whispers stabbing me, and ripping my flesh as they flew through the air and in my direction. I buried my head in my hoodie, as if to hide from the painful sting of unwelcomeness.

I lifted my head with every ounce of willpower I could sustain in my weak vessel. I bent down to get my brush from my worn backpack that had been torn at the seams and had several missing zippers. I dig through my endless black hole I call a backpack, and pull out my blue brush. I started to gently run it through the tangled mess atop of my head. I heard footsteps approaching me, in my weary thoughts. I heard a low growling from behind me.As I looked back in confusion, I saw a face all but a few centimeters away from my face. I let out a yelp as the person in my face barked as loud as they could. It all happened so fast, it sent me into a daze of fogginess and detachment. It took me a while to come back to the world that has only ever brought me pain and grief. As the room fills with laughter, my mind swallows me. As I fall and fall into the deep abyss of my consciousness I think to myself “I just wanted one day without being endlessly tortured by the voices,and the ridiculing comments. I’m endlessly tired.”

As I contemplate my intrusive thoughts,  I think to myself as a tear gracefully flows down my cheek. “ Am I good enough for this massive maze of emotions and raw confusion?”

 I’m untrusting of the environment that created this seething monster., I'm weary from the exhausting weight from my own self sabotage and corruption.

A gentle old voice echoes and I rip myself back to reality.

I step up to the ledge , breathe in, lean forward and for a moment I felt relief, I felt light. All those days I spent crying in my room, the numbness, the loneliness, the excruciating words, the laughter, all those days I sat in the bathroom just so I could get one moment of relief before having to walk right back into the fire that scorched me only but a few moments ago. All that time I had no control over my life or myself, all the moments where blood painted my arms, all those moments my heart was crumbled into pieces, the memories of me holding a gun to my head, the confusion, the medication I downed too help chase the deadly thoughts away, the times I would drown in my own thoughts,the screams. I had to see the ugly part of life that people refuse to shed light on. 

Sometimes people's stories are happy, some are sad, but mine was never finished.