My name, doesn’t matter. Right now its all about the story.
There was a point in my life when I use to lay awake at night, when I would break down in public outings with my family. No warning or no reason, just the sick depression closing in upon me that would make me choke up and begin to cry in the middle of dinner. I once considered cutting myself, I once considered suicide. But I’m getting ahead of myself, so I suppose I should start at the beginning. There once was a guy in my life, I considered him my best friend. I was (unfortunately?) young and in love. After barely any contact with him over the summer, the school year came around. He walked right past, not even looking at me when I called out his name in the hallway. That year was also when my bestfriend was moved to another school, a few other friends moved away, and I was thrown into a new enviroment mixed up with unknown classmates. I felt utterly and entirely alone. Ofcourse I didn’t look for any other answers, I just blamed myself. I must not be pretty enough, or funny enough, or something for the guy of my dreams to act like I was invisible. During school I would act fine, hyperactive even during classes and interactions with classmates. It was all just a coverup. When I got home I would run straight to my room, I would lay there and atfirst just feel like shit. Eventually I would lay there and think of different ways to die. At first the only true release I had was writing poetry, something that I discovered was the perfect release to get all my thoughts and feelings out onto paper, onto something concrete, I no longer felt such a storng need to harm myself/others. Eventually I met my now bestfriend, but she didn’t bring all good. She fell into a bad crowd, into drugs, stuff that before we had sworn against. But she had done so much for me, and we had suchgood memories that I stuck around. Lost more friends because of being associated with her and was soon thought of as a druggie, when in realtiy I had never drank or touched a ciggeratte while she ran off and got high and pushed me aside for drugs. I managed to recconnect with an old guy friend that had moved away, and for the first time in a while I began to open myself up to the thought of liking someone again. He became my best guy friend, I could talk to him about ANYTHING. And soon i thought i truly loved him. We dated, but never got the chance to see eachother, we began to have less contact. So I broke it off, deciding it would be better if we were “just friends”. Somehow “just friends” became lost in translation and we became “barely friends”. I rarely see him now adays, but when we do it’s a  forced hello while i think about the many ways he screwed me over (too long of stories to mention on here) and how I might still be inlove with him. Two more guys came into my life, both were twisted by drugs, both lied to me about it. But by going through all this I realized something.
Life goes on.
Even if it still hurts to see the many people that have hurt me in the past, and my family doensn’t seem to truly understand me at all, i’m no longer writing poetry about suicide. I’ve realized that I jsut have to face the day. Even when people give me shit and even when I feel like a waste of space and flesh. I can’t just let life pass me by. I use to believe that “what does not kill you makes you stronger” was a lie. I use to think that what does not kill you, will tear you down until you wished for death. But for me, that was only the beginning. I’m not just breathing, I’m not just surviving, I’m living. Thanks to friends, thanks my nerdy band family, thanks to my boyfriend, thanks to my family.
~featheredwings