Normal

I can not really understand the anorexics. (A lie. If I had the guts to do it, I would.)1

I don't have much...there is a word for it, I know. Somewhere in the back of my mind. The word I am looking for is...yes, willpower.2

I lack willpower.3

It would explain my (failed) attempts of suicide.4

(Remember when you cried when you realized your dose of aspirin was not enough? You cried for hours.)5

If I had willpower... I would be able to kill myself, right? I know I want to. I am not throwing myself out in the way of a train or slashing my wrists (but what of your stomach?) But if someone pointed a gun to my head, I'll tell them to do it.6

Simply, I want to die. I just don't have the guts. The willpower. 7

If I had willpower, couldn't I jut get over this?8

(Get over it.)9

It began after sixth grade. I was tired all the time, I had headaches. No big deal. Somehow, it became a big deal. (Where did this [my life] all end?) I did not just have headaches anymore. Even old memories became stabs to the chest.10

The first word that came to my mind was depression. Then emo. This is what emo kids did, they wrote sad poetry and watched as their words told of themselves 'falling apart' and 'feeling distant' and hating the world. Everyone seemed to look down on emo kids. That must mean that they look down on me too (even if they don't know it yet.)11

I hated the world. The fury I felt can almost not be described in words. I broke pencils writing about it. I cut my flesh thinking about it. I screamed at the walls, like they were people. 12

Hate. Hate. Hate.13

I hated my friends. I hate myself. I hated God...and I thought myself to be an atheist. Everything. Everything was hated.14

It made me rip out my hair. Cry. Scream. Growl. Snarl. I hit. I kicked. I bit... Myself.15

(I want to get out of here. Get me out. Get me out of here! GET ME OUT OF THIS BODY, THIS FUCKING LIFE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT!)16

I also cried for the world.17

Now, I can't understand why. I was young; I still believe my viewpoint as provincial to a certain extent. 18

Honestly, I hated the world. I wanted to destroy it. (Let the countries kill each other off, you know they want to do it.) So...even as I cried, holding a pillow to my face - since I have the decency to hide the fact that I ever cry - I did not understand why.19

But I did cry.20

I cried for the world (there are acts called inhumane, and yet, only a human is capable of them.)21

I cried because of school. I cried because my mother wouldn't let me have a snack. I cried because I thought (still think) that no one heard my screams. I cried because I wanted to die and I could not make myself do so. I cried because my head was pounding, and no matter how many times I hit my head (or screamed) or shoved pills down my throat, I still felt it. The igniting fire consuming my skull, the sharp blade pointed in the back of my head.22

I did not have depression. No. That would be admitting that I'm not normal. Because...this is normal.23

Other teenagers do this. This is normal. It has to be. I looked it up online. There is a thing called depression. But it is too severe. What I have is mild. It will go away. A few months (a few years.) Other people think my thoughts, how I stay up thinking of myself raped, or beaten up, or killed. The bloodier the better, the more I scream the better, the more friends around me the better. 24

The first time I cut myself was on my birthday. 25

I think I did it on purpose. Though, today I am not sure. I just remember how it felt... The purple pair of scissors I used to rub at my skin angrily, making the skin inflamed. I rubbed at my skin until I bled, realizing the dullness of the scissors.26

I felt pain. Obviously. But I felt joy; the similar joy you feel when laughing at a great joke (but I knew that this was not all that funny.) Yet, I was startled. It was beautiful. The welt. The bright red blood. It sucked out my breath, made my eyes moisten. It was then I knew what I wanted - a body of welts and cuts, lined and criss-crossed in random patterns, like a piece of art. What I am doing, this is art.27

It made my body tremble. I was terrified, yet fueled by sudden ecstasy. I realize that this is all in my head (is it a chemical imbalance that causes all of this - no, I am normal); endorphins were being released. It made me feel bad ass. It made me feel pathetic. It makes me feel like maybe I am not so normal after all.28

But I have to be normal. Because I am. It is not denial (when I am aware of the opposite truth.)29

Now I am in my sophomore year. This all started after the end of sixth grade. I found myself introduced with tinnitus, a little side effect on the back of all medication with ibuprofen (that is non-prescription and legal, of course.) 30

Buzzzzzzzzzzz.31

It began getting hard to sleep. My mind raced as my body lay stiff and tired. My eyes always (still) leak with tears. It would almost be funny if I died from dehydration from crying so much.32

I used to listen to heavy metal. I still do. The angrier, the more violent the band and the lyrics, the better I was. It cleared my mind. I could not hear anything but their screams. I did not have to hear my own.33

Music like My Chemical Romance or the infamous Moonlight Sonata...that just makes me go crazy. Like a rabid sort of crazy, where you run for a sharp object. I wanted to cry, to clutch the ground as if searching for comfort, and punch myself.34

I need to hurt myself. I NEED to hurt myself. 35

It helps me concentrate. My heart always races; I always tremble; I always want to laugh, or cry. It makes me better. For too long, have I been trying to get 'better.'36

I read psychology books...to find out what was wrong with me. Because I do not have depression. At school, I am normal. I can smile and laugh and make fun of people. I looked up bipolar. But no, I do not have mania. (It would explain my sparks of creativity, the rapid thoughts, and my fast speech.)37

But at school I am more normal. (Not when that kid died at the school. You broke down. You sobbed in public. You did not know the kid. You cried. You were jealous. He got hit by a train. You get to live. Lucky you.)38

No matter how many times I switch sides on myself... ('No. I don't want to die. It's stupid. I want to live and go to college.') There is one absolute. A happy day never lasts. The nights stretch on for eons, and there I lie, night after night.39

I tried to make my friends give me their pills. They said they did not want to kill me. Or let me die. Some friends they are. They are all trying to stop me. (But I will show them. When I graduate, I will make my "exit.") They think that I have outgrown 'this.' They won't see it coming. If I don't die by graduation, it will be in college (and so on.) It will be arsenic. I will cook it in food. 40

Overdosing has given me a strong gag reflex. I should have realized that drinking in water was diluting the painkillers. Painkillers would not have killed me anyway (I wish I had known.) Energy vitamins and sleeping pills... There weren't enough. It just left me fagged, slumped over, head down.41

I wanted to die. I still do. I want something painful, dramatic. I would rather die in my bedroom, peacefully. I want to live and be happy. Yet, I can not rid of my dreams (waking and non) of the welts and cuts. I can not forget blood or pain. Let it consume me... The very thing that makes me want to die, make it smother me.42

It does not make sense. If I stand back and think. It does not make sense. I want it. It just won't leave me alone. I don't want it to leave me alone, because...then... I will just be normal.43

I don't know if I want to be normal. Even if I am normal.44

(You really want to die, don't you?45

Why haven't you done it yet?46

Why can't you do it?47

You are too weak to kill yourself.48

Pathetic. Pathetic!!! You almost make me laugh, but then my eyes start to tear up.49

They say you are emotionally unstable. What do you say to that?50

You call yourself normal. 51

They called you a freak.52

So are you normal...freak?)53