Loner

Chapter 11

I just sat there. Staring outside. It was dead gloomy and grey outside, raining slightly. I sat and watched two drops of water trickle down the window, as if they were racing. I quite liked the rain actually. It reminded me of when I was a kid and I used to splash around in the puddles with my friends, we all seemed so young and innocent back then. The only fighting there was would be over a stupid game or a pokémon card, which nobody really wanted anyway. I couldn't face to think about them anymore. Not after today. Why was high school so cruel?2

I suddenly heard mom walking up the stairs so I grabbed my jacket and wiped my cheeks and eyes before she came and saw me crying. I must have looked so stupid, sitting there crying over nothing. She couldn't possibly understand. Could she?3

She knocked the door and put her head round it. She asked if I was ok. I panicked. Had she seen I’d been crying? I turned round to face away from her and pretended to be drawing. I replied with a simple 'I’m fine' and she left the room presuming I wanted to be left alone. I heard her go downstairs and I burst into tears again. I knew I couldn't go anywhere in the house. I was avoiding mom because my face was all red and damp, and outside they were waiting for me. I could feel it. I felt trapped in my own room and the leaded windows made everything seem so dull and closed in, like a prison cell. There was no escape. Not tonight anyway. I put on some music and tried to relax but they were always in the back of my mind. Laughing.4

The thing is I knew I needed help but there was no one there for me. There never was really. I had few friends and no boyfriend to confide in and the few I did have all turned on me. I was always just the sad, boring kid who sat in the corner. Alone. Who would want to be friends with me?5

For a while I’d convinced myself it was all my fault. I was to blame. If I was more sociable maybe I’d have more friends. I’d try to fit in but just get pushed away, like I was some kind of freak. I was never one to fit into a certain group or category and you know how they like to hold that against you at high school.6

I remember walking into class late and hearing whispers of 'what the hell is she wearing?' and 'who does she think she is?' and I’d answer in my head 'I’m a nobody'. I’m someone that blends into the background without being seen or heard but longs to be noticed. I’m someone who is ignored but not by choice. I’m the outcast...7

My train of thought was broken as I heard mom shouting me to go downstairs to eat. Panicking, I looked in the mirror to check my face, hoping I didn’t look too upset. I shouted back to her, my voice shaking.8

I couldn’t eat. Every mouth full was getting harder to swallow and I felt my eyes filling with tears again. I knew I couldn’t talk to mom. She had problems of her own to deal with. She didn’t need another of mine to add to it. I excused myself from the table and went plodding back up the stairs. A tear falling at every step. I made my way back to my room and picked up my phone, reading the names and messages and deleting them one by one. Backstabbers. All of them. They were never trustworthy. I couldn’t ever tell them anything. They wouldn’t understand and almost everything I did tell would get back to me through some one else. I decided telling people didn’t help and I bottled everything up from then on. I figured I knew and understood myself better than any “friend” possibly could so why bother telling them anything? If it was left to them the whole world would know my business, and I didn’t particularly want that, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t either.9

It wasn’t ever really that interesting anyway. I think they just took joy in seeing me unhappy. That’s what kind of people they are, backstabbers, people who are nice to you when you’re there and then as soon as your backs turned you suddenly turn into the most annoying bitch in the world. Just so they feel better in themselves.10

Maybe being a loner wasn’t such a bad option?11

I only hung round with them because there was nobody else. They were the only one’s that seemed to accept me. And acceptance is a big thing when you’re young, and I suppose when you’re older too.12

I remember mom used to say ‘They’re only mean because they’re jealous of you’ but jealous of what? I wasn’t ever the best looking of people, and no one even gave my personality a chance. I wasn’t very intelligent and all the boys just looked at me and sniggered. There was nothing special about me. I was…boring, just another face in the crowd. But a lonely one.13

I hated being alone. I felt scared. Secluded from the world. At the same time it gave me chance to think, which wasn’t always a good thing and quite often wasn’t. I’d sit and think for hours on end. About nothing really. I’d just sit there day dreaming and drifting off to another world. A better world. The worst part was coming back to reality. I always enjoyed writing little poems and stories in my spare time too; I had plenty of it after all. It was my own way to escape everything and disappear into my little world again and it seemed to be the only way I could fully express myself. I felt I knew myself better afterwards and it tended to relax me too. Sometimes I wish I could stay there. There was never any hurt, pain or fighting. Everything was peaceful. It was like a second home for me.14

I often found it difficult to write happy poems or draw nice pictures. There was never anything nice to write about or draw. The colours of my drawings always consisted of greys and blacks. Never any bright colours. Not anymore. I forgot about them a long time ago. I didn’t use them for ages and they seemed to just disappear. As if they new I didn’t need them anymore. But I remembered one colour well. Red. 15

Blood red. 16

That was my favourite. 17

That was the one I’d seen so many times before. 18

The one that scared me but in a sick way made me so happy.19

The one colour that was printed up my arm.20

Over and over again.21

I remember one time I came home from school and mom asked what had happened to my arm and I just said I fell over. I think maybe she sussed it out but never said anything. Never dared to for what she might hear. I felt so disappointed in myself. I felt like I’d let her down. Her little girl. 22

Nothing seemed the same between us then. We were always dead awkward around each other and we hardly ever talked like moms and daughters are supposed to. I don’t think she wanted to. We just seemed to slowly drift apart and there I was blaming myself. As if it was my fault. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I never really meant her to find out. I wore long sleeved tops and covered my arms a lot so it wouldn’t show. I didn’t want to be another problem to add to hers. I suppose she would have found out sooner or later but I’d just kid myself that she wouldn’t.23

I haven’t done it again since though. Even when I’ve been really desperate. I considered it weak minded. Just an easy way out. I’m stronger than that. I often find myself looking in disgust at those with cuts now, or those that have killed themselves due to some arrogant prats. Even though I sunk that low myself. I felt so stupid. I knew so many people were going through much worse than me, but it felt like the only way I could release my anger and pain. Those feelings that nothing else could take away but cutting. It felt like an addiction. In the end it just made me feel selfish and disgusted with myself. It made me feel like I was playing the ‘poor me’ act like everyone else seemed to be. Looking back a lot of my mates would just openly tell people that they cut themselves. Just for attention. As if it’s somehow ‘cool’ to be so depressed that there’s nothing left to live for. 24

As far as I was concerned they could rot in hell. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of giving them my sympathy. That’s all they wanted at the end of the day. And in my opinion it’s a very personal thing to be that desperate so you don’t tend to spread it around unless you want attention for it. They were all so fake. I never had any real friends that respected me and actually wanted to be my friend. It’s like I knew I couldn’t be myself around them. I always had to put on an act to fit in with them ‘cause if they knew the real me they’d think I was just weird and abandon me. I couldn’t take that chance. Not after I lost everyone else. Although I remember was this one girl.  Her name was Crystal. It was always a favourite name of mine. So beautiful. Like her. She was stunning. Yet none of the guys liked her either. She was very quiet, kept herself to herself. Like me I suppose. We used to talk sometimes, you know, when I had lessons with her and no one else I knew was there, things like that. But we were never really close. Kind of distant friends. I always felt we had some kind of connection, but nothing either of us were prepared to take any further, like best friends or anything. She seemed happy to be alone. Maybe I should have taken advice from her and stayed alone too? Then I probably wouldn’t be in this mess. I wish I could talk to her now. She’d probably know just what to do. She was good with things like this. She had a few friends of her own. But she always refused to go out to places with them, get too close. She was afraid. I don’t blame her really. There are some really nasty people around. She’s a fantastic judge of character though. She can see right through someone in a matter of seconds. No wonder she wanted to be alone all the time. I always wanted a friend like her. Someone to look out for me. Protect me in a way. It was a shame she didn’t want friends. I would have jumped at the chance. Hell, if I had her I wouldn’t need any of them. Just her and me. It’d be great. But maybe she saw through me? Maybe she saw me as one of the people I hang round with? Decided I was just like the others. Maybe she didn’t want to know me after all and that’s why she wouldn’t get too close. I wonder if she thinks I’m one of the nasty people? Maybe deep down inside I am and somehow don’t know about it. Everyone else can see it and I’m just blind? Just not wanting to believe it. 25

I perished the thought, I just wanted to believe I wasn’t like them. I didn’t wanna be reduced to their level. To be honest it quite disgusted me. They disgusted me. Walking round showing off their cuts up their arms like it was a new body piercing or tattoo. Sickening really. They’d all do it, cut themselves I mean, and then somehow expect sympathy from me, as if I should care that they’re stupid enough to do that. What kind of fool did they take me for? I would happily watch them die. It sounds so horrible but I didn’t care about them. Why should I? I hated them. I know hate is a strong word but I’m saying it because it’s true. Speaking from the heart as such. For everything they’ve ever put me through. For all the lies. The backstabbing. The bitchyness. I hate them. I hate them for what they’ve done to me. Turned me into the insecure, lonely girl you see before you. It’s all their fault. It’s their fault I couldn’t just be me. Instead I had to be someone else. It was too ‘un cool’ to hang round with the real me. Like I cared about cool. They might aswell have called me a different name, because basically I wasn’t plain and simple me. No I was another person. Probably a much worse one. A bitch like the others.26

A horrible, scary thought struck my mind of how many people I probably hurt. They must have been feeling the same as I do. Hating. I tried to think of people who seemed to just hate me without me doing anything, and then me wondering what the hell I’d done. ‘Cause basically it was the others work to be mean. I just laughed along, although I felt so bloody guilty for doing so. My mind clicked. “Oh my god” I said aloud “was crystal one of the girls?”27

I suddenly found myself crying again. Stupid, pathetic tears of hatred. But not towards them. Towards me. “You bitch” I shouted “you horrible, selfish bitch.” I screamed it. Over and over again until the words didn’t seem to make any sense anymore. I slowly lost my breath and just gave up and sobbed. I couldn’t bear to look at myself. I turned the mirror away from my face. I felt ashamed. I sat talking alone and explained that I didn’t deserve to be her friend and asked how the hell I didn’t see it. Nobody was there of course. Just me. Alone as usual. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself now though. I was the bitch this time.28

At this point there was no doubt in my mind. I must have picked on her. Why else would she be so distant? I racked my brains trying to think of when, but it just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t think straight after all the crying and shouting. I needed a lie down.29

Chapter 230

I sat bolt upright. Mom was shouting me to get up for school. It was morning, meaning I must have fallen asleep again. That’s when it struck me what was coming today. Them. I tried my hardest to fake sick so I ran to the bathroom and quickly stuck my fingers down my throat. Just this once. It made me shudder. I had sweat pouring down my face and my throat felt horribly raw. I hadn’t eaten anything either so I couldn’t have made it worse for myself. I was just so desperate. I disgust myself sometimes. I heard footsteps coming upstairs. Moms. I made the biggest groan possible, with the state I was in with my throat, and to my surprise it worked. Mom walked in and comforted me and practically told me to have a day or two off. I didn’t have to say a thing. I never fake sick. Ever. I think that’s why she trusted me. It’s comforting really I suppose. The sad thing was I knew I had to go back to school sometime. I just wished I didn’t. I never wanted to see them again. I never wanted to see Crystal. For what I knew I’d done to her. It upset me too much. My eyes would probably start filling with tears just looking at her. I felt so bad. Why was I so bloody horrible? How is it possible to go from being so glad of myself, for being in the right, to so upset and practically embarrassed for doing everything I’m so against? I just feel so ashamed. Stupid really, yeah, that’s a better word. I feel stupid. Stupid for being so hypocritical. Stupid for moaning at them feeling sorry for themselves. Stupid for thinking I was different in any way, shape or form. I’m not so different. Just wallowing in my own self-pity. Like I moaned at them for. Feeling sorry for myself. Poor little me. 31

As much as I seem to think and feel that I’ve hit rock bottom, I really have quite a long way to go. I moan now but I should make the most of it before my life gets worse. Cause it’s going to. I can almost guarantee it. Yep, just problem after problem. And every one just seems to get worse than the one before it as if to say to you “Hell, you thought that was bad? Check this one out, you’ll start to appreciate the last one.” Like it’s just laughing in your face for thinking the first one was bad. No, it gets far worse. Trust me. Trouble is I don’t think I’m strong enough to take much more. It’s getting harder and harder to manage from one day to the next without each problem coming back to haunt me and then I just end up getting deeper into this pit of bad feelings. It’s almost as if living has become some kind of chore.32

************ sorry! Not finished yet ************33