this is my story. i guess.

Well, I guess I should start at the beginning.  When I was in fifth grade, I was diagnosed with ADD.  ADD makes it hard for me to focus for very long.  Fifth grade was a very difficult year for me.  I have always been a bit unique.  I never really fit in.  I listened to Christen music, which no one else thought was cool, even though I went to a Catholic school.  I was made fun of for listening to TobyMac, who certain peers called “BigMac,” for reasons unknown to me.  I told a guy I had like since second grade that I liked him and was rejected, with him telling me he already knew about my crush on him.  My aunt had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and I cut off nine inches of hair to donate in honor of her.  I was sort of in the middle of transitioning friends, and never was I the popular girl.  This one girl had always been a bit of a two-face, being nice when she thought it was convenient for her and being mean when she felt like it or just didn’t like you.  She always needed to be the center of attention, even though she was never the most popular girl.  One day, during lunch, I just felt like enough was enough.  I was sick of her treating me so rudely.  I felt like crap.  So I decided to try to suffocate myself with my green flowery drawstring lunchbag.  The same girl who was the cause of my anguish was ironically the one who stopped me from attempting suicide and told her mom and was the catalyst for the beginning of my year-long counseling session.  My attempt was quite lousy, I’ll admit, but it was nonetheless an attempt to kill myself and a cry for help.  In sixth grade, I was better.  I didn’t go to counseling anymore, for there was no need.  I tried my hand at writing songs, but that was a major fail.  That was also the year of the first Virginia Tech shootings, in which 32 were killed.  I started listening to popular music.  I tried to fit in.  I was still too unique to fully fit in.  Anyway, seventh grade came.  In English class, we started writing some poems.  For one assignment, this was what I wrote:

emo-ness

i cut myself
and then i felt
madder than before
then i cursed the lord

the razor blade
is my maid
coming to my aid
i wonder if the scars will fade

black
the color of the night
never very bright
a heart of red i lack

life
it cuts me like a knife
but peaceful and without breath
is death

happiness
is not my boss

slash
i see on my arm
a red gash
i do not feel alarm

colours
are for lovers
not for me
or sandra dee

cant you see
what i will be
if and when i ever
grow up maybe never

i will not live my life
if i do it in strife

i am emo
what do you know

On the front, I wrote a note to my teacher saying, “I do not actually do this!  I can’t even imagine me cutting myself!”  I wrote another poem, much shorter, describing how I felt.  (I was really into writing poems at that time.)

outcast

outcasts
are all a part of the past
they never have a blast
because theyre always last

i would know
cause im as low
as a baby buffalo
in a foot of snow

Yeah.  Then, in the middle of seventh grade, my aunt’s cancer came back a third time, only this time would be the last.  It had reached her brain, leaving her no more than a year to live.  Also at that time, an eighth grade girl lost her mother to breast cancer.  I had known her personally, and she had touched many lives, so her death was a blow to everyone.  It wasn’t long after that when my aunt died.  She was one of my favorite aunts, but none of my friends at school really seemed to care about my pain like they had cared about the other girl’s loss.  I’m not complaining, but it would have been much easier for me if at least one of my friends had comforted me or cried with me or even just really listened.  I felt as if I had to be strong for everyone else at the funeral, and I was one of the few who wasn’t crying, at least publicly.  I cried, just not where everyone could see me.  I didn’t want to burden anyone else with my pain along with the pain they were already feeling.  Then came eighth grade.  I got a supporting role in the school play as a valley girl.  I was in bell choir and children’s choir.  I was friends with most everyone.  I still was not very popular, but I also had no enemies.  I felt accepted and happy.  I was taking beautiful pictures with my new digital camera I had gotten for Christmas a year before.  Then came the eighth grade baby assignment.  You know, the one where you have the fake babies for three days and experience what it’s like to have a baby.  I really had fun with that.  I also for the first time earned the National Fitness Award.  I ran the mile in 7 minutes and 51 seconds.  At the end of the school year, we had to dissect frogs.  Blech.  I got paired up with one of the most popular guys in school.  Luckily, he was easily bribed with lots of Wint-O-Green Lifesaver mints.  I only touched the frog once.  Barely.  Then came freshmen year.  That’s when the procrastination really hit.  My grades slowly started slipping.  I didn’t fail any classes, but I still could have done better than I did.  I am a Girl Scout, and I finished my Silver Award that year.  That was a lot of work, and it caused me some stress.  But it was the highest award I could earn at that level, and it was an awesome accomplishment.  I also started learning a new language, French.  I made many new friends and joined drama club.  I love it.  I was on costume crew and hair and makeup crew.  I felt as if I belonged there.  Then, on Holy Thursday, another death suddenly happened.  My cat, Jellybean, died that morning, and, coming home from an orthodontist appointment in the middle of the school day, I found him lying dead in the carport.  We hadn’t been able to find him all day.  So I stayed home because I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, because I loved that cat.  The tears didn’t come until I was standing there staring at the television screen and a commercial came on for the Disney movie Big Cats.  I still miss him.  At the end of the school year, my parents and I decided to try going without my ADD medicine for a while.  I went the whole summer without it and first semester of sophomore year without it.  Halfway through first semester, in health, we took a little self-evaluation on ourselves concerning depression.  That’s when I found out I had depression.  I wasn’t motivated to turn in any homework, and consequently I failed 2 classes first semester.  So I started taking depression medicine around the middle of first semester.  I also became the marching band techie.  I loved that job.  I felt as if I belonged.  Over Christmas break, my parents and I decided to start back on my ADD medicine again.  I also began seeing a counselor again, who, coincidentally, was the same one I had in fifth grade, which really helped, because she already knew me, and I feel comfortable with her.  We also just recently, about two months ago, got a new cat, at first named Cassiopeia, but then we found out she was a boy, so we renamed him Cassidy, with Cassie still being his nickname.  He brought joy into our household.  Now I am one month into second semester, and doing much better.  I have recently discovered the most amazing music, kpop, and immerse myself in it.  A few weeks ago, I told this guy I liked that I had a crush on him, but sadly, he doesn’t feel the same way.  He and I are still good friends, though.  I have never been in a relationship or been kissed.  I read almost too many books, but then again, you can never read too much.  So my ideas of relationships are somewhat hopelessly romantic, but that’s me.  I look at all my experiences and mistakes as learning experiences.  I hope you know that suicide is never an option.  If you ever think about suicide, think again.  Tell someone.  I don’t want anyone to take their life away just because they think they can’t take it.  There are always resources out there for you to use, people who are willing to listen to you and help you get through your trials and tribulations.  After all, a life is a precious thing to waste.  Thank you for listening to my story.

Love,

Mary