I Understand Now

My friend, lets call her Bells, was under a lot of stress at the time, emotional and physical stress, not having to do with school but with how she felt. I didn’t really know why, she never told me much less anyone, but she said she was abused and she was bullied most of the time, people called her “fat” and “ugly” etc. but she wasn’t either of those, but there was so much hate, that in blinded her.  One afternoon, in Spanish, the rain was heavy on the window pane, and our teacher had us jot down ideas, and Bells started to write things on her paper, her sleeves rising up, revealing her arm. My eyes seemed like they were bulging and it felt like I was on LSD. All these red cuts, were worming around her arms, some in straight lines and others crooked. I didn’t understand why she did it at the time. So when our teacher told us we were going out in the hall for a brain break, I grabbed her hand and held her back with me and I asked, “Why are you hurting yourself?” And she smiled, fake of course and she said that it was the only way she could relieve the pain in her heart. As the day’s passed, it seemed like she became more depressed, this sad weight starting to crush her. She never smiled, didn’t even try and she always wore double long sleeves, afraid that someone would see. Boots up to her knees and tight jeans on her legs. Hair was always down, eyes always glazed over. She told me that last day, that she couldn’t take it anymore, that it heart too much and even though she visited the school counselors, she believed she was a lost cause and that she would be destroyed by the abuse, if she didn’t destroy herself. I didn’t fully understand what she meant, I just interpreted it like she was going on a trip to relax or something, but I was wrong. So that second day, when she didn’t show up in Spanish, and when the announcement came on, “With great sorrow we are sad to inform you that a student, Bells, made the brave decision to commit suicide last night.” And my mind went blank. All of Bells very close friends in that class, yelling and crying, but I couldn’t hear them, it went silent in my mind. I should’ve been crying, but I guess I was too shocked to. I sat there in the chair, leaning back mournfully, a blank stare on my face. The night we went home, I locked myself in my room, and sat on my bed, sorrow. I screamed loudly at the ceiling and threw books at my wall, pillows and fists. My cheeks stained with tears. I looked over through the window, spotting my ex-friend, lets call him Dallas, catching football with his friend. We used to be the best of friends and now we don’t talk to each other, and it hurts. I needed him that day, I needed him to calm me down, and when I realized I didn’t have him to comfort me, the pain only grew stronger. Days later when I was showering, I kept replaying the moments of horror and sadness in my mind, and my hands started to shake, the loud cries escaping my mouth. I hurled myself out of the shower and grabbed the razor in the closet, and drew it across my skin. Then realizing I had cut for the first time, I yelled for my mom who came to my aid, she patched me up and held me on the couch. Until I fell asleep again and she carried me to my bed.

A week later, I only got more depressed, missed her funeral on purpose. Every night I tried to fall asleep, I screamed her name at the ceiling, trying hard to claw my heart out of my skin, because it hurt too much. Crying so hard that I started to bleed because I was all dried up. I miss her. I still think about her.

I understand how she felt now.

I understand.