I’m new. And… uncomfortable with this. Understandably I think. I supposed I’m supposed to tell my story? Well, from the beginning: I had a friend, she was beautiful, inside, outside. I loved her so much. I knew her for almost a year before I noticed the scars on her arms. She never took off her coat. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. I didn’t want to see her in pain, I didn’t want her to be in pain. I wanted to snatch it all away from her, shove it on me, take it all away, do whatever I needed to do to make her smile so brightly the sun blinked. I begged her, pleading, telling her she doesn’t deserve it. Then I threatened. “If you do it, I’ll know, and I’ll do it too.”
i was so stupid.
Then the world became a downhill slope and we were riding at top speed. Love twisted with screams of hate, tears blurred into laughter as we dragged each other down a mountain of blame and affection. Finally, I think we just couldn’t take it, we stopped talking. We wouldn’t talk for almost a year after that. During that year of separation our school had a survey. Extra credit in the Health class I was failing. I took it, not seeing the harm, and answered the questions honestly. I didn’t think they’d pull in a therapist. I didn’t think they’d call my parents. I didn’t think I’d see my mom crying, my dad yelling. They yelled at me. That almost made me laugh. I’d been in pain for the past year and their first reaction was to yell. And I was the messed up one? I think they blamed themselves. I think they blamed me more. They pulled me out of school. The next school year I was home school and that friend, from before, she moved and I never saw her.
The world was grey.
I think nowadays I’m a little better. I can keep my head above water as I ride the waves of sinking, soaring and floating. I trim my hair when I’m sad, as an alternative. I wear black to feel balanced and I listen to music to drown out the white noise.
But the marks are still there.