I shut myself away in my room. I burrow into my covers and feel hot tears start flowing down my imperfect face.
The covers . . . my pillow . . .
I could smother myself.
I turn on my MP3 player in hopes that my precious music will comfort me. I pop my worn out earbuds in. My mind focuses on the cord for a moment.
I could strangle myself.
I put on one of my favorite albums. The music echoes through my head as I look up at the ceiling. My eyes stray to my blinds that are now closed and the cord that has made them this way. What if I double-looped that cord?
I could hang myself.
Oh. My. God. Why is this happening? This is so frightening to me. I've loved my life up until this point. I've never thought this way before, though I don't think I'm too important for suicide. A single grain of sand is more valuable than I am.
Last night's dream plays through my head. Everyone hated me. Literally. People would look at me just to turn away in disgust. If they addressed me, an expletive would always come before my name. As for my writing, they'd take what I had and throw it in the fire without even reading a single word.
As I picture the pages smoldering and slowly burning away to nothing, I hear the garage door open downstairs. I'm reminded of my family.
Mother.
Father.
Brother.
They could never truly care because they could never truly understand me, nor could anyone else. They all think I'm so cheery, funny, and smart, but they are fooled by the skin I wear to hide my decayed inside. They don't know what it's like to try to get through the night. They'll never know what it's like to be lost at sea like I am.
My favorite song starts to play. Not once had I cried when I listened to it . . . until now. So the sobbing stops.
I write this while I can still feel the sting of dried tears. I could probably start crying again knowing that you've now seen the most rotten part of my soul. I know as soon as I've clicked "Send", I'll regret ever writing this. With that knowledge in mind, you may be wondering why I've shared this dreadful truth with you in the first place.
I'll tell you why.
I need to hear something. ANYTHING. I know I can't expect too much from people who don't even call me by my first name, but I'd rather hear you say you hate me, my writing, and everything I do than be stuck with the silence I always get.
View it like this: I am a flower. Neglect me and I won't grow, and I might just wither away.
Hoping for a life raft,
Kay/7stars
Editor's Note: Thank you 7stars for sharing this deeply personal article. It takes great courage to be so open about such a difficult subject. For everyone who is reading this article, I encourage you all to talk to each other about the struggles and pain you have been through. I also encourage you to reach out to your family or anyone that you can trust. You are not alone, and there are people who care.
