Monday rolled around, and it was time for school. I threw on a ratty tee shirt and some old hole-filled jeans. I put my hair up in a sloppy pony tail, and headed out the door to my house. Not my home, because I didn’t have one. It was just my house.
I had stopped caring about my appearance because there was no way to make me attractive, so why try? There was no point in making a pitiful attempt at trying to fix the unfixable. I would rather just take the easy way out and not do anything with myself, instead of spending time on a lost cause.
I walked up to the bus stop, using all my energy in each and every step. I was dreading walking back into that hell hole more formally known as school. I was scared of what challenges would be thrown at me today. I had barely slept the previous night because my thoughts had taken over once again, and I would rather stay up than have another nightmare.
My nightmares truly terrified me. I would just fall into a black hole, surrounded by my triggers, fears, and secrets. I just hoped that I would finally reach the end of that black hole: my death.
These thoughts had taken over my what was supposed to be my life. I started closing up more than I already had. I hid all of my dirty little secrets, and shut people out. No one knew anything anymore. I didn’t even know anything.
I was not the girl I was a few months ago, but I didn’t show anyone who I really was. I didn’t bother letting people know about my depression and suicidal thoughts. I thought that it would just make me more of a burden than I already was.
However, there was this boy I was friends with. His name is Will. I will admit, I did have a slight crush on him, but I was just as happy being his friend.
One night, after I had a complete breakdown, he texted me. He asked me how I was, something that a friend hasn’t done in a while for me. I responded saying “Great. You.” I didn’t use a question mark, smiley face, or have any form of emotion in that text. He picked up on it.
Will started pestering me about it, asking what was wrong. Eventually, I told him. I told him about the cutting, about the pills, about the choking and hitting, and even about the suicidal thoughts.
I didn’t know how he was going to react. I didn’t know if he was going to hate me and call me selfish, or be overly sympathetic. I didn’t even consider the fact that he might tell someone before I let him into my mangled mind.
“I’m here for you, if you EVER want to talk. I know what you’re going through is rough, and yeah, it seems really bad now. But someday you’ll look back at this and smile, seeing as you got through it.”
That was the text that kept me going for a little bit longer. It was just a simple text, but it meant so incredibly much. Will was incredible. Although I didn’t believe it that much then, I now do. I’m so glad I talked to him.