Story of a Little Girl

There’s a story of a little girl. She was kind and beautiful. And, happy. At least, she used to be. That was until middle school got to her. I remember the way her eyes lit up every single day. I remember how she spoke. Just one smile brightened everyone’s morning. She was fun. She was adventurous. She was confident.
There’s a story of a little girl. Who went home from school excited for tomorrow. She always did her homework the first chance she got. She was the loving sister, the helpful friend. She was Daddy’s Little Girl. The only things in her mind were her family and friends.
There’s a story of a little girl. She got in the wrong crowd. She started to swear. She started to lie.

One day, she fell in love. But, on that same day, she made a terrible mistake. Because of the influence of her so-called-friends, she made up a story. She told them her daddy abused her. She told them she has tried to commit suicide. It was only a small little lie. I guess as days went on, the lie grew. Eventually, the word got around to the teachers and counselors. They called her down to the office.

The little girl was terrified of what was to come next. She didn’t know the lie would get this big. Scared and worried, she entered the counselor’s office. Her daddy was there. So was the assistant principal. They had a very long meeting. It was decided that she would check in the next morning to talk about thingsffurther more. And so, the little girl and her father went home.

But, it wasn’t any better at home. The father called a “family meeting.” He told them he wasn’t mad. Just disappointed. The whole time, the little girl had tears running down her cheeks. Unable to talk, she sat there hopelessly listening to her father’s recall of the recent events. She regretted everything she had done. They took away her phone and laptop. They read all her messages with her boyfriend. The messages that were never supposed to exist. She felt embarrassed. Ashamed.

There’s a story of a little girl. But, that was two years ago. I guess the little girl isn’t so little anymore. So, I’ll just say this: There’s a story of a girl. She used to be kind and confident and happy. Then, things changed.

Now, she’s mean but only to protect herself. “The only way to not get your heart broken is to pretend you don’t have one.” She felt ugly. She felt miserable and depressed.

There’s a story of a girl. Nobody knows who that girl really is. Her friends think she’s the happiest girl in the world. What her classmates don’t know is that she has depression. She cuts herself in order to feel at least something. They don’t know that the night before, she cried herself to sleep. Even her family doesn’t know. Nobody knows that the only thoughts in her mind are of suicide. Nobody knows how much she wants to fall asleep and never wake up.

There’s a story of a girl.
A little girl.
Her name is Rochelle.
This story was MY story.
So, if you read this, I have one message for you.
And only one:

Please save me.

Before it’s too late.