Silent Screaming...

Once, I was told that you can get whatever you want as long as you do what you can to get it. Once, I was told that if you really want something, then you will do what you can to get it. Once, I was told that if you aren't sure if you'd do anything to get something, then you don't really want it. But is it possible to really want something and then change your mind. Or does that mean you never wanted it to begin with? I always thought I wanted to grow up, get married and have kids. That's all I wanted. But now, when I see kids, I see ugly, screaming things that take your sleep and steal your youth. When I see marriage I see safety, predicability, knowing what's going to happen day after day. Boredom. When I see growing up....I don't. That's the thing. I can't picture myself living after at the most sixteen. And even that seems hard. Too hard.

Once, I was told this gets harder. That I'm sure of. Every time something bad happens, I convince myself that this is it. This is truly rock bottom. But then the ground opens up and a whole new rock bottom is created and it starts again. That's it. It can't get any worse. But it always does. And it always will. I know that now.

I can't sleep, can't think, can't breathe without that feeling now. That feeling of something sitting on your chest, crushing all the air out of your lungs. Or sometimes the feeling of very cold fingers clawing at my chest, tearing apart all of my skin and then ripping at my heart. I feel it all the time and I can't get rid of it. I tell myself it's stupid. I tell myself I'm stupid. I tell myself anything and everything, anything I think will make the feeling stop but it won't. I'm sick of feeling that pain. I'm sick of feeling.

Today, I was sitting in an English lesson, looking round at everyone else having fun. I didn't say one word throughout the whole lesson. No one tried to talk to me. No one ever does. Everyone else was laughing together, having fun, making jokes. I mean, granted, as I watched, I saw why we're considered the worst behaved year group in the school and our school's one of the worst behaved schools in the area. But that's England for you. The most dangerous thing about England is us, the teenagers. Not usually the ones our age, at fourteen and fifteen, but that's where lots of us are headed. I notice the looks I get when I walk down the street, dressed in black with one eye totally covered by my hair and the visible one practically tattooed with very heavy eyeliner. I wouldn't hurt anyone other than myself. I'm not like that, but it won't stop people being scared of me. I'm pretty tall for fourteen, too.

As I watched people, I thought, Why can't I be like them? Why can't I force that happiness on myself? I've almost giving up pretending now. People honestly, hand on heart, don't pay any attention to what I say or do. I could probably shave my head in the middle of the school yard and the only thing people would see would be the red hair falling.

As I watched them, I saw that special boy and I saw the way he was looking at those other girls. And when I looked at those girls, they were smiling, laughing, joking. And what makes that all worse is they were being themselves. I know he hates fakers, so that's me ruled out anyway with how I pretend all the time. And then if I stopped pretending and was really myself, he'd hate that too.

If I'm someone else, I'm hated. If I'm myself, I'm hated. If I don't kill myself, I'll never know if suicide is the answer. If I do kill myself, I'll never know if suicide is the answer. I'm screwed either way. I'm screwed anyway.

I'm going to die anyway. What's the point in forcing myself through all this shit just to die when I'm done? What's the point in anything when ultimately, your reward is death? Death would be rewarding for me right now. It's what I want. Just to die.

What I really want is my needle. What I really want is to bleed.

Black Mariah.