When I was a young girl, I was never overly fond of other people.
I was never “in love” with anyone, but I have always had an immense heart, and if I loved someone in a non-romantic way of course, it was a passionate love.
I was sincere and still am, and will always be. I asked for only what I craved to have, and I was intelligent enough to venture out to reach whatever it was I wanted.
I loved myself. I was comfortable with the body I was born in, the body that I must live in until the day I die.
It wasn’t until I was 10 years-old when I began this awfully strange voyage of self-loathing.
The day I entered my fifth-grade class room, was the day I met two strangers, I had of course not met before. Disgust for myself and a romantic love for another.
I know what you may be thinking, “A ten-year-old? In love?” Yes, it was my first love. He had a few foul words leave his mouth about me, yet he would gaze at me from afar. I do not believe he ever thought much of me. His eyes could make one melt. My love for this boy lasted five years.
The years I spent weeping, hurting, and gawking over this not so stranger anymore were unbearable. I felt as if death was near. As if he was the only other person living besides myself.
In my own youthful way, I had begun the passage of unrequited love.
I am anxious. Depressed. When I would stare into the mirror I saw no beauty left in myself. All I wanted was to be adored by another. But how did I suppose that could happen, if I despise myself? My head was clearly in the clouds and my refusal to come back down was not helping at all.
People told me I was ugly. That I will never be loved by another person because I am simply not worthy of it. I would use humor and shock value to distract from how much hatred I held in. When I come to think of it, youth is destroyed quite early in life.
I was no longer that fortunate, joyful little girl. I was more like a self-loathing demon, who wanted nothing to do with myself.
I had no idea that my strange love for this boy would mean losing my own stability. Now I’ve realized that when you love someone you must leave more love for yourself, do not hand over your dripping heart to someone who is not worthy of it.
As I’ve aged, I have become more aware of my surroundings. Aware of other people. I am anxious, depressed, and suicidal.
This year, I had forgotten all my past practices. I started new, sort of. I locked eyes with a new stranger, a stranger that will later go on to show me that people cannot save you, and you cannot save other people.
I wanted him. I have only been in love twice and my second time was far more damaging than my first.
This world is quite unwelcoming. I wanted to be held, I wanted to simply be protected. Little did I know, I was asking a coward to save me. Cowards cannot save themselves, let alone others.
I ventured, to seek only what I craved. What I craved was, him. He was all I wanted. I uttered my words of admittance, (somewhat) to show him how I felt.
He quickly jumped down from this pedestal I put him on. What was I thinking? The second I laid my eyes on him, I thought so highly of someone I hadn’t even spoken to.
I was not sure where he will take me, but I never had the notion that he would drag me down to hell.
He chose her. He chose her. He chose her. He chose her.
The only three words that crossed my mind for months.
He. Chose. Her.
Slit wrists frightened him.
I walked around bandaged in secret. There are still scars, but no remorse from him.
I think you can guess what happened with this stranger.
I slit my wrists for a boy who didn’t love me.
I lost my self-control. Reality passed me.
This innocent, joyful, courageous girl, she had left me in the dark. I was blind.
Until this day, I see him. Every day. I have no words left to exchange, only dreadful stares and a pounding heartbeat.
I may have been welcomed into hell, but heaven knows I’m miserable now.