Depressing short story
She was a girl like you.
She wasn't perfect.
She wasn't plain.
She wasn't extraordinary.
She was herself.
She said what she needed to say.
She did what she needed to do.
And yet girls like her, pointed out her every flaw.
They skipped the beauty and dragged out the beast.
And soon all that beautiful girl thought about was the extra pounds on her hips, her non-model like face, and her status.
She forgot about her eyes that lit up when she smiled, she forgot about that shirt that she loved, she forgot about those who were there for her.
She turned into a self hater and preyed on others just like her. She made them feel like crap too, just like her.
One night she sat on her bed and thought. She didn't like the girl she was. She didn't think anyone cared. No one would miss her if she were gone right?
She wanted to STOP all the pain and memories that went through her head. She just wanted to STOP!
Stop hurting others.
Stop being her.
Stop being what others look for her to be.
Stop having emotions.
Just STOP everything!
Her brain hurt and she just wanted to relax.
She went to her closet and grabbed her razor. Then she went to her computer and researched where to cut to bleed faster. Honestly, the girl, just like you, wasn’t scared. She grabbed her computer and razor and went to her bathroom. She knew from what she had read that it would be a messy project, so she took out the rags and dressed in them and laid them out around her. She sighed and started to write her suicide note, accusing others that they were the reason she did this. The entire time, her parents are downstairs, clueless what their daughter is doing.
She dragged the razor across her wrists, slitting them. She winced in pain but then she got a thrill of of it. The adrenaline was amazing. Then she stopped feeling. She couldn’t move. As she sat there, on the floor, she realized all the good things about her. She thought about all those who will mourn her. She then tried to call for help but her body was quickly shutting down. Her last regret was writing that letter. Help came too late and the girl,just like you, died in horror at what she had done to herself and other girls like her.
And as her family and friends mourned; the girl looked down on them and realized. Those girls that were mean hadn't meant to be mean, instead in her self-consciousness, she took everything those girls had ever done as if it were directed at her, when it wasn't. She saw all those who loved her and cared about her.She was clueless that they cared so much for her.More than anything she wished that she could be down there right now and go be with her family and friends.. She wished she could have been more aware and less self-absorbed.
The girls that “tormented” her were so sad. One of them commited suicide after realizing she was the reason a girl killed herself. Another was put in a psychological ward because she turned a new corner, she cut, she drank, she did drugs, and her parents sent her to rehab, in a confinement where no one was there for her.The other girl took her story and created an anti-bullying and suicide awarness club. That club is now a worldwide club and has saved many lives.
Her older brother has her death etched into his mind. He was the first one to find her. Her torn and bloody body, sitting there. His parents faces, looks of horror both on their faces. The sorrow, the regret, the grief, all around him. Then there was the letter. The horrible letter, that told him that he was never there. It broke him and he cried for hours. Then he started to be angry. His sister was so stupid! Why! Why would she do this to the ones that loved her dearly. HOW? How could she do this to her family! To him?
The girl, just like you, was looking down on her family. She saw what she did to them. In the end she was just a bully, always creating chaos. There were endless tears falling, falling forever.They might as well have been tattooed on. Nothing could make her feel better anymore. No amount of forgiveness or love could heal her.That girl, just like you, was forever broken.