Story Time: About a Girl, Part 3

PART ONE & PART TWO

why me……….

why me?

Sitting in my room with the door closed.  Staring down at a piece of paper with questions and blank spaces and a mechanical pencil at hand.  Looking through the book for answers. I hate this.  The pain increases by the minute.  why must I suffer?  Sharpness strikes the left side of my arm, traveling to the neck.  I grab it with my right hand, massaging the tenderness, pounding on it to make the pain go away.  Head is throbbing.  I don’t want to do this homework.  Screaming in my head.  I’m in pain!  Crying because there’s nothing I can do about it.  Frustrated that I don’t know the answers to this homework assignment.  I’m angry.  I hate myself.  In the heat of the moment, I crumple up my homework assignment and toss it to the floor.  Still crying from the pain.  Still screaming in my head.  The noise doesn’t end.  why me?  Jabbing myself in the stomach with the mechanical pencil.  Jab.  Jab.  Jab.  1….2…..3…..4 times.  Faster and faster.  why me?  I hate myself.  why me?  I don’t want this pain anymore!  I’m tired!  Releasing the tension and bringing my breath down to a calm, I immediately regret what I just did.  Picking up the crumpled piece of paper, shaking my head in my own disappointment while trying to straighten it out, so it’ll at least look presentable for the teacher and sighing knowing that it will never look new again.

Blasting “Welcome to my life” by Simple Plan, screaming the lyrics in my head, jumping up and down, dancing angrily, following the beat of the music, thinking, why me?  Looking at myself in the mirror, watching me lip sync to the music I hear on repeat in the background.  Staring at myself, examining every part of my face, slowly stop lip syncing and thinking that nobody understands the pain I’m going through, nobody cares. Watching my expression change from anger to sadness, tears stream down my cheeks.  why me?

As I reminisce, look back to those actions that took place, to the feelings that stirred inside of me, I remember these memories as if they happened not just 10 years ago, but a year ago.  I’ve locked them away, even blocked myself from seeing them in the present, but as I open the memory, I see it clearly with fog misting the atmosphere creating a cold and dark memory.  Those memories are tainted by dark gloomy clouds.  I remember consistently asking myself, “why me?”

Moments when I decided the stupid mechanical pencil was not very effective, I exchanged the pencil with a pair of extremely dull purple scissors.  The kind of scissors 5 year old’s use for arts & crafts in kindergarten. How upset was I with myself for doing the things I did?  Jabbing myself in the stomach because I’m in pain?  Drowning in my own stupidity for inflicting pain on myself?  Secretly hoping for death to quickly come and release me from my torture.  Thinking about death and if people would miss me.  Screaming internally.  Scolding at myself, whispering, “why me?”

Standing in the dark hallway near the kitchen, I look up at my sister.  Her sad eyes watching me, silent.  I tell her, “don’t tell mom or dad”.  A whole day passed and I get called into the den, my parents heard, my sister told.

Was this some kind of intervention. We’re going to a movie.  We were supposed to go to the movie after dinner.  I remember it well, sitting on a high stool eating my noodles at Noodles & Co. with my sister.  Talking about my suicidal thoughts.  Looking down at my red bowl filled with noodles, wishing for this conversation to end.  I didn’t want to talk about it.  I thought we were going to eat food and watch a movie. Sitting there crying at the restaurant, whispering I want to go home. I was in pain and I didn’t want to discuss my suicidal tendencies.  I hid my feelings… I tried to hide my feelings.  I used my pain as an excuse to distract her from talking about it.  & we ended up finishing dinner in silence and leaving shortly after . . . without ever stepping foot in the movie theater.

People pitied me.  To this day, looking back to my life in high school after surgery, did I really have friends?  Or did they feel sorry for me?  Changing books at my locker, I felt a small girl run up behind me and give me a big hug. I knew her as a child.  We were close once, played when both our older sisters got together to hang out. Our families were close once.   Everyone wanted to sign my cast, my soft collar neck brace. Pretty soon it was filled with cute messages from my classmates and I bejeweled it to make it more me, but not really, I think bejeweling things are kind of ugly, but I did it anyway.

How taunting and how real these moments are.  The only ones that stuck with me ‘till this day, especially when I let the feelings resurface.  I try to block them from my memory.  Let it bury itself within all lost memories, but can never be forgotten. They are the strongest memories I own for it entwined together will all emotions and all feelings. It’s the darkness inside me that creeps up ever so often.  The invasion of deep sadness, helplessness, and loneliness taunting my memories.  As hard as I try to forget, it’s apart of me.  Without these memories, I wouldn’t have grown into the person I needed to be.

rebeccanne

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