You know, I never really thought bullying was a big problem for me in elementary school.
Until, middle school.
I was always the outcast, the "bad person" that no one wanted to date, or introduce to their parents.
So as I was laying on the ground, beat and bruised, with people laughing and calling me names in front of everyone in my year.
I never cried in front of anyone, not even at the first sign of bullying. When they started calling me names.
I never even cried in front of my dad when he abused me.
The only time I cried was when I first saw my own blood, and It wasn't from bullying or abuse.
It was me.
As I was walking home from my last class, I was trying to hold the tears in until I got to my damn prison.
People say that school is a prison, and wherever you feel safe is your escape.
But there is no escape from your mind. Never. You're stuck with your own mind, no matter what.
I got to my house, ignoring my urge to cry my tears, and hide my face as I rush up the stairs and lock the door to my room.
My mom isn't home, so I take my chance to get as much as my pain released as possible.
- 10 minutes later-
My tears pour down my face as I feel the blood trickle down from the 100th cut I've made on my porcelain pale skin.
As I look back at my scars on my wrist, I think of all the things people call me, that I choose to believe.
Never beautiful, or skinny, or smart, or anything nice. I've never had friends to tell me positive things, or a boyfriend to cuddle with.
I've always had my mom to trust, but she's broken her promise to date, not hook up with a random person at the club.
But it's all a joke, right?
Because a joke always has the possibility of turning into reality and reality can be fucked up.
Hi, it's Aj, and this honestly made me cry at the end, but I'm not suicidal, I'm depressed yes I have the scars to prove it. This is a story to write when I feel upset