The One of Mine

It stung but I would never stop, not now. This was the moment I always looked forward to. I didn’t give up when it started to hurt, in fact, that’s when I’d only push harder. Pain was the goal and once I felt a little I’d only want more. The sting of the blade as it glided through my skin. I loved the pain. I loved the blood. No one knew how much I needed it, or that I even did it.

I'd been addicted to self-harm for as long as I can remember. I don’t know how it started but I was in deep. I hated doing it at first. I felt guilty and scared of what people would think if they ever found out, but after four years I just didn’t care anymore. It made me feel alive and human. The pain distracted me from the real world and all of the shit that came along with it. In that moment, all that mattered was making the cut and watching the blood pool up. The blood which contained all of my problems, all of my flaws and all of my worries. I cut it out of myself and watched it drip down my arm, purging my being of everything bad. For now at least.

The problems would soon come back and I’d find myself here, once again, in a dirty bathroom stall in the middle of my free period carving away at my skin until all was relieved. But of course that wouldn’t last long either. The cycle would only begin again and continue until God knows when, repeating itself over and over and over….

But in the moment, I never thought about that, it was probably why I always went back to it. I didn’t think of the aftermath, how shitty I’d feel right afterwards. I didn’t think of the guilt or the shame or the fact that I’d scarred myself once again, another souvenir added to my collection of terrible teenage memories. All I thought about was inflicting as much hurt as I could, taking away all of my emotional pain and replacing it with physical wounds.

I always thought about how one day I’d look down at my arms and see the perfectly parallel scars running up from my wrist to my elbow and think of how ridiculous I was being when I’d made them, but in the moment it was normal; I wasn’t being ridiculous, I was just being Leigh. It didn’t strike me at all as something that would be strange, everyone had their own ways of dealing with their problems, this just happened to be my method of choice. It was how I chose to deal with the pain, the confusion, the loneliness. Every time I heard the words ‘you’re not alone’ I’d almost want to laugh. I was alone and that was never going to change.

I watched now as my blood trickled down my arm, falling in drops onto my shoes. I didn’t care much, it’s not like my ratty old converse were strangers to a little bloodshed. The red liquid slowed its flow and I could almost feel my impurities exiting my body. It was relaxing, peaceful; nothing was wrong. But of course, the moment wouldn’t last long. I heard the shrill ring of the bell and everything came crashing back down. Reality invaded my bubble and I was suddenly brought face to face with it once again.

I stepped out of the stall and looked around to make sure no one else was in the bathroom before I went over to the sink. I turned on the water and ran it over my arm, watching as the blood, along with all of my problems, washed down the drain.

At first it stung and I savored my last bit of pain before it slipped away. I wish it could have lasted longer, but it never does. I turned off the water and wrapped a bandage around my forearm; not so much because I was worried about it healing well, but because I needed to hide it. The last thing I wanted was for someone to notice blood soaking through my sleeve and make a big fuss over it. Although, it wasn’t likely that anyone would.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a friend, the last time I’d really even talked to someone. I was a loner. A freak. A loser. No one sat with me at lunch or wanted to be my partner for a school project. I wasn’t the first kid you’d go and sit with in class and as for my social life; it didn’t exist. My best friends were my razors and my iPod; self-harm and music being my only escapes.

My parents didn’t help much either. When I was fourteen, my dad decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life anymore and took off without warning. He left us one night not even leaving a note, I hadn’t talked to him since and didn’t even know where he was. My mother was devastated and retreated from the world. She took it hard, blaming herself. I felt bad for her but I didn’t know how to help. My mom and I got along well enough, but we’d never had the best relationship and my father’s disappearance obviously didn’t help.

After that, I myself started to retreat from the world. I broke friendships, shut myself out and withdrew myself from the world. I found myself becoming more and more depressed and people were slowly starting to give up on me. When I first started to be ignored, it didn’t come as much of a shock. I’d secluded myself for so long that it was no wonder why no one would want to talk to me. It hurt a lot, never being talked to or looked at unless being made fun of, but after a while, I just learned to live with it. I taught myself not to show emotion, not to let anyone know they’ve won, and after a while most gave up.

I was still bullied a lot though. I was pushed in the halls, called ‘emo,’ ‘loser,’ ‘bitch,’ and just about every other name you could imagine. And the worst part was, I just took it. I let it happen and never did anything about it. I don’t really know why I never fought back, I guess I always figured I was never strong enough to. I was the sad loser everyone said I was, I’d never been able to fight back, so instead I just shut down.

I hated to think about these things because I hated feeling sorry for myself. There was nothing I or anyone could do to fix my life and I learned to accept that a long time ago. I never let anyone in, I only pushed people away. I was fine with being alone. I was numb. Nothing fazed me anymore. I wouldn’t say I’d given up, but I certainly cared about a million times less about any given thing than just about every other person on the planet. I focused on me. I did my work and appeased my teachers but other than that there was nothing I had to look forward to.

I was careful as I made my way through the hall to keep my arm against my body. I didn’t want anyone to tug on my sleeve or call me out. I wasn’t in the mood, not like I really ever was. I was focused on one thing; get to class so I can finish off the year. It was finally the last day of school and I was forty-two minutes away from being freed from these ass-holes I’d grown up with for good. No, I wasn’t not a senior, but I was moving.

I’d grown up in this little town and spent all of my sixteen years here. I lived in New York, but not in the city. It was this small little town tucked away in Westchester County. It was one of those towns where everyone knew each other and the kids were all on the same soccer team. Girls did cheerleading and boys played football. It could have been the location for a cheesy movie where the boy meets the girl and everyone lives happily ever after.

Unfortunately for me, I never got that memo. I was different from all of the other kids. I didn’t play sports or go to dances or cheer my little ass off in a short skirt that barely covered it at football games and I was fine with that. I barely ever made a presence at my school and I was sure that no one would miss me once I was gone.

I sat in class mindlessly doodling in my notebook. I didn’t care about paying much attention seeing as I wouldn’t even be in this town, let alone this state in less than twenty-four hours. My mother and I were moving to New Jersey for her job. She’d been promoted a few weeks ago but we waited to move so I could finish off my last bit of the school year. We’d already packed and would be leaving the next morning. I wasn’t so excited to be moving to a new school seeing as how I’d been treated here, but on the other hand I couldn’t wait to get out. I hated just about everyone in my school and leaving them and never having to see them ever again was the only positive thing I could think of as I heard the final bell ring one last time.

I grabbed my books and tucked them into my bag. I got up from my desk and made my way to the door, avoiding the celebration from my classmates regarding the end of the year. They were clueless to the fact that they’d never see me again, it wasn’t like I had anyone to share the news with. I liked that I would be leaving without warning, just getting up and taking off, never to see any of them ever again.

When I got to my locker, I made quick work of emptying its contents and packing them away. So long locker 1034, I thought to myself as I closed it for the very last time. I made my way through the halls and out the front of the school knowing that if I looked back it’d be the last time I’d ever see it, but I wasn’t feeling too nostalgic so I just kept on walking. I didn’t drive and I wasn’t going to sit on a bus in the middle of my rowdy classmates jeering at me for no reason, plus walking to my house only took about ten minutes.

The silence and calm I felt during my daily walks to and from school was just about the only highlight of any given day. No one bothered me and I could just think. I had gotten some of my best ideas while walking down the sidewalk, kicking rocks and avoiding the cracks. I was an author, or at least I pretended I was. I had easily written four books, worthy of publishing, but no one other than myself had ever read them, and I didn’t intend on anyone even knowing they ever existed.

The last turn on my journey marked my last few minutes of solitude. I’d arrive home in approximately two minutes and thirty-eight seconds if I kept up my current pace. I thought about slowing down to prolong the inevitable event that would be sealing up the last of my worldly possessions before moving to a new state but there wasn’t really any point in doing that, so two minutes and thirty-eight seconds later I was home.

I turned the key in the front door and let myself in. I figured that my mom would be running around like a madwoman attending to every last detail as the time we were set to take off approached. The house was almost empty. All of the furniture was loaded into a big moving van, but there were still a few boxes waiting to be put away. I looked around the foyer, the walls cleared of all the pictures. “Mom?” I called out and waited for her response. I heard a faint reply coming from I believed her bedroom and made my way upstairs to find her.

As I walked further into my house I noticed how it no longer looked like home. Everything from every room was gone. The countertops in the kitchen were clean and empty, the table in the dining room was absent, and there wasn’t a single toiletry in the bathroom. It was as if no one had ever even lived there. I passed my bedroom and took a quick peek in.

My walls which had previously been covered almost completely with posters, painting and pictures were now barren and white. The floor had been stripped of the carpet and replaced with a new hardwood finish. Almost all of my furniture was gone and all that remained was my mattress, a blanket, and a few stray boxes that had yet to be sealed and packed away. It wasn’t my room any more, and it was a little scary. Up until this point, the fact that we were moving hadn’t hit me.

“Leigh?” I turned around to see my mother standing in the door frame. She was wearing jeans and a button down shirt, her hair pulled up and out of her face. She looked exhausted from packing and sorting all day but she still somehow seemed to glow with life. My mother had always been beautiful. When she was in her twenties she won beauty pageants and the heart of every man she’d ever met. She had perfectly trimmed blonde hair that was just the right length for her. Her eyes were a deep set chocolate brown. Her porcelain skin was smooth and ageless. She wasn’t young but she wasn’t too old either. Sometimes I wondered how I was even her daughter.

Unlike her, I had dark hair, probably from my dad’s side. It was long like a curtain to hide behind. My mother had always said that I should cut it so everyone can see my ‘beautiful eyes.’ That was some advice I wasn’t so eager to take. I do have to say though, that out of all of my physical features, my eyes were my favorite. They were pale green, also a trait I’d received from my dad, and I loved them, even though no one really ever got to see them.

My mother and I were both short people. We were small and petite standing at a miniscule five-two, a quality my mother said suited my personality well. I was always quiet, even before the bullying began. My mother always said that I looked as shy as I was, and she was right.

“Hey mom,” I greeted her. I hid from my mother. I hid my entire life from her. She’d never seen my scars and didn’t know about my addiction to pain, and truthfully I kind of hated that. I wanted to tell my mother about all of it. I wanted to let her know how I felt, all the hurt and oppression I’d endured, but every time I felt like I was ready to say something, I always backed out. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t break my mother’s heart, so instead I’d built up my wall and held everything inside, sparing her from the news and disappointment that would come along with it.

“How was your last day at school?” my mother asked still standing where she had been when she came in. “It was fine, nothing really happened being the last day and all.” I felt bad for not really knowing how to talk to my mom, even after sixteen years. I couldn’t figure out how I still felt like a stranger to my own mother, how every interaction between us was so impersonal. “Well, that’s… Uhm, so, everything’s been packed up and brought to the truck. Those boxes there are some of the things from your desk. I left them open in case you wanted to put your school books in along with them,“ she said pointing to the last few boxes that remained in my room.

“Oh, okay. I think I’ll just keep my school stuff in my bag though, separate from my other notebooks.” I didn’t want to mix up my school books with my writing books. My mother didn’t know that I wrote. She didn’t know what kind of information was spilled all over the pages in those notebooks, what events were documented in vivid detail on my computer. I wrote about things she probably couldn’t even imagine and I would never want her to know about it. And she never would if I could help it.

It seemed almost strange for me to be protecting my mother from the bad in the world, normally the roles were the other way around. My mom grew up in an average household and never knew discrimination. She was an only child and a cheerleader throughout high school; a stereotypical it-girl. She was pretty, popular, smart and kind. She had everything she ever wanted and couldn’t have asked for a better life. She was almost oblivious to the kind of shit I went through on a daily basis; sure she knew that bullying existed, but I feared her heart would audibly shatter if she were to ever hear of the damage and defeat I’d endured over the years.

My mother smiled and nodded, leaving me alone in my room while she tended to last minute packing. As I stood in my room, taking in the last of my time here in this house, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad to be seeing it go. Sure my new room could be decorated the exact same way as my old room but it would never really be the same. It wouldn’t be here, where I’d spent my entire life. My new room will never have held my tears or housed my bloodshed. It will be in a new state, the perfect place to start over with myself. It was a chance to keep the floors clean of my blood and my flaws. A chance to change, fix everything that made me who I was now, bullied and pathetic. Though none of that was likely to happen. New York or New Jersey, I’d still be the same lonely, sad, depressed Leigh I’d always been and forever will be.

***

I awoke the next morning fully aware of the day’s activities. My final moments in New York were quickly coming to a close and soon we’d be on our way to a new life. The boxes were sealed and tucked away, ready for the journey to our new home. I looked back at the house one final time before it was out of sight. Goodbye old life, you’ll be missed.

I wondered what New Jersey would be like. If my life would change or if I’d just go through the same crap I’d endured my whole life. I prepared myself for the worst as always; if things wouldn’t change than neither would I. The wall would stay up. Let no one in and no one can hurt me. My thoughts drifted further and further until I shut my eyes and fell asleep. I’d wake up in a new state, with a new house, and a new life.

The hours passed as I remained lost in my own world of dreams, but when I opened my eyes, the real world arose. New York was gone and now started my new life in Belleville, New Jersey.

Notes

The name of the girl in the story is pronounced like Lee, not like Lay-a. I have a friend named Leigh and made the mistake of saying her name like Lay-a for months before she finally corrected me, which is how I fell in love with the name and decided to use it for this story. Other than that, no one else’s name should have any confusing spelling, but if something else doesn’t make sense, I encourage your comments, just please be nice about it. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the story!
Also if you wanna check out more of my writing (original stories), you can check out my Wattpad:http://www.wattpad.com/user/NicholeUnfiltered