My heart sinks the second I open my eyes. Leaving the world where I’m important and entering the one where I look into the mirror and cry. I hear the high pitched sound of my brother yelling at my mother. I go downstairs to eat breakfast; the kitchen has an off putting smell of old food. I grab a bowl of cereal but can’t get myself to finish it. I get dressed for school and try not to look at my stomach, fighting myself, trying not to point out my flaws. I leave the house to walk to school, a strong breeze awaits me as I open the door sending a chill up my spine.
I know the path to school like the back of my hand. The cracks, the imperfections. It is the one place away from my imagination that I feel comfortable. A place where people walk bye without whispering, without shame. No one here cares who I am, which is what I like because the people who do care only make living worse.
I walk through the dark gates of my school, I enter my prison. All around me are the identical girls in grey striped dresses. I suck in my stomach and try to blend in with scenery hoping I will make it through the day.
I walk up to my locker. I’ve memorised the scratched in words that cover the door: loner, waste of space/oxygen, dirt, nothing, but not just the ones I’m willing to admit but also words I won’t even say in my own head. I open my locker to hear the faint whispering of girls talking about me, I hear them laugh. It is almost impossible for people to find something good about me. I grab my books and go to English class. I always sit in the same spot, the back of the room at a desk covered in gum and graffiti. No one will sit next to me, who wants to be near the school loner anyway.
Every class invisible. The teachers don’t even know my name, they all give me the same average grades. My mother would be angry with me, if she cared. She did once, but things change.
At lunch I sit in the darkest corner in the school. People who walk by won’t even look at me, but they’ll talk about me. I never take more than an apple to school, maybe it is because that is all my mother will ever buy for my or maybe it is because I want to torcher myself more. Maybe I feel that my life isn’t bad enough, I should be living it better. It is all my fault.
I never look at my phone, not since the day the whole school got their hands on my number. You would think that someone like me would never get texts. But I do.
I’ve heard of people like me, the ones who skip days of school because they can’t handle it, who turn to self-harm or worse. I have to fight it every day. Tell myself I’m better than this. I can make it through but when I see how easy it would be to end it all, to live in my imagination forever…
..how can I stop myself.
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