I sit with my paper and pen and just begin to write what comes to mind.
They all think I’m happy miss sunshine. That absolutely nothing is wrong. That when I smile I mean it. What they don’t know is that I’m not happy miss sunshine. Absolutely EVERYTHING is wrong. And that this smile is one of the biggest lies I have ever told.
“No… That won’t work.” I mumble as I crumple up my paper and trash it. I couldn’t possibly turn that in. If I did, they’d all find out.
“Hey Silaina! What’s up! Having issues with your English paper?” says Samantha as she comes up behind me.
“Yeah, just a bit.” I say with a forced smile. Just the fact that every one who would read what I’ve tried to write would find out what really goes on in my mind.
“Okay. Show me what you have so far.” She says as she sticks her hand out for me to hand her my paper.
I write my name on a blank paper and hand it to her.
“Are you serious?” She asks.
“What about the one you crumpled up a second ago?”
“Not even worth bothering with” I don’t want you to find out the pain I’m in. Even right now.
“Come on, you gotta have some idea what to write.”
“Nope, nothin’.” That I can actually have people read.
“Well-” Her phone starts ringing. “One sec.” She answers the phone, “Yeah Mom? …I’m at Silaina’s…Yeah, I’ll be home in a few… Yeah. Bye. Love you.” She hangs up the phone. “I gotta go home. See you tomarrow!” She leaves.
I go back to my paper.
My name is Silaina. No one seems to really know me very well. This smile, fake. My laugh, fake too.
No. I crumple it up and throw it in the trash.
I try again.
For over a year now I have felt as though I really have no purpose. That all I do is mess stuff up. That I can’t do anything right.
Nope. Can’t use that either.
My life is a wonderful happy go lucky one! I pick flowers and smile all the time! I’m always happy and nothing is ever wrong with me! My life is perfect!
Funny, but no.
It feels to me as though I’m falling. And theyres there are is nothing to grab onto. Ever wonder why I always either wear long sleeves of lots of stuff on my wrists? Or why I never wear shorts or go swimming? The only way to keep myself basically from going insne insane just so happens to involve sharp objects. Yeah. I cut. My arms, shoulders, sides, legs. Practically anywhere that’s won’t be easily noticed. I’ve wanted to kill myself on several occasions. The idea of pain, or death, doesn’t scare me. In truth, I’d prefer it.
No. I can’t use that. If I could that’d be great. But I can’t.
I fold it up and put it in my drawer and then go to bed.
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