Beautiful girl, where have you gone? Where did that smile go? Your big, green eyes have lost that light.
I have asked you to get help. To tell the mother you wish you didn’t have to get you somewhere safe. You haven’t done anything I have asked.
One day, I hope that you will see the beauty you have trapped in your heart. I hope that you will let someone see it.
Instead, it is buried by a bitter dirt, but it is still there. It is still waiting in a dormant state.
I hate that you don’t see the way your hair seems golden in the sun. The highlights catch the sunlight in a way that makes it sparkle.
Beautiful girl, I need you back. Brush away the bitter dirt and bring back the light in those eyes. Let the sunshine make your hair into strands of gold. Realize your worth.
A burn on my hand sings in hot pain. The skin has already become a pale pink and shines a bit more than the rest. Pancakes. A burn for pancakes. Seems like a fair trade to me. I whisk together more of the mixture and water, scraping at the bottom of the bowl. When the off-white liquid becomes the same viscosity of glue, I pour it on the griddle. Steam rises and sizzles as the pancake cooks. I quickly add chocolate chips to the top and they sink a bit into the already thickening liquid.
My grandmother says I eat too much food because it’s the only thing in my life that I can control. That the amount of food I allow into my body is the one thing that only I can change. She’s right, but I’ll never tell her that. I don’t eat lunch or dinner or breakfast. Instead, I graze throughout the day. Sometimes, when I’m bored, I eat so much my stomach aches. Other days I don’t eat anything at all. I like to tell myself that I have control in other aspects like my emotions. That I can control the way my surroundings affect me, but we all know that’s far from the truth. My brain feels like a snow globe. Small, glittering flakes whirl around a tiny, glass container. Than, they settle on the bottom until someone comes back to shake up the globe again. They are dependent on everything, but me.
The edges of the pancakes change from shiny to matte. I pick up the black spatula and flip them. The surface of the almost-perfect circle is a delicious golden brown. I allow the pancake to bake a bit more and remove it from the black, hot surface. Waiting for the pancake to cool is hardest part, so I usually skip it. I eat the one that isn’t going to completely burn my tongue first. Almost-molten chocolate coats the roof of my mouth as I enjoy the pancake.
Your arctic ice eyes could bring the world down with just a glance. The passion in your heart will always bring a smile to my face. The freckles you hate are the mark of the sun that kissed your skin. I will always miss you. I will miss that summer we swang on the metal swing set and looked up the stars, hoping we could fly away. I will miss your laugh that filled the room. Last I saw you, those eyes still shone brighter than any star that shone above us. Your passion made me want to hold your thin frame, in hopes that a fraction would fade into me. Your freckles were more prominent than ever. All your features still held true without me. You are doing fine without me. If you had really looked at me that night in May, you wouldn’t be surprised. My eyes still glaze over when I talk to people. My face is still pale and sickly. My passion is still dwindling. I wish I still had you. I wish I could still call you a friend. I wish you saw me as a friend. Please don’t ever change. Please continue to give the world the hell it deserves. Please always be the kind and strong girl I love.
My room is a mess. Clothes litter my floor. Dishes inhabit my desk. Dark circles hang on my eyes. The tan I gained from the beach has faded to my original skin tone. I should get up and do something worth my time. I should get up and be social, but when I did, I just got turned down again and again. Each time I tried to invite some one over, they forgot or said no, causing my shoulders to grow heavier. When I try, I get turned down. When I don’t, no one cares. My sister lives with her head up high and a light around her. How does she do it? I can’t go more than a month without feeling so heavy I can’t get out of bed. She has friends who care. She’s not afraid to live. Mom says I should go back on my meds, but that thought sends a shudder down my spine. Mom says I should make new friends, but I’m scared. I’m scared of what they will think. I can’t tell my mom that. I really tried to be happy and I was for a month or two, but my mind caught up with me. I’m stuck.
I am not naïve. I am not weak. I am not stupid. I know that people are hurting. I’ve seen it. I may not drink or have sex or smoke pot, but, my dear friend, do not be mistaken. I know it happens. Why do you look down on me? Why do look at me like a child when, in fact, I am older? It’s almost like you pity me. You pity my lack of recklessness. Well, I am afraid that palace you have built will fall. You will no longer feel like you’re on the top of the world when you wake up with a splitting headache and a few sparse memories you regret. I may hate myself for letting my teenage years pass me by. I may even hope for a another chance. I will, however, never hope that I am like you. I will never wish for your condescending glare or your harsh tongue. Do not treat me like a fragile piece of cracked china. A piece that could break with the slightest touch. Look at me as an equal. An equal with different experiences and a different past, but a fellow human being none the less.
“Don’t be like me, Emma,” my mother said with a look of desperation in her eyes. Her dark hair clung to her tear-soaked cheeks. I had made my mom cry. My heart seemed too heavy for my chest. “Don’t be stupid with your body. Don’t be stupid with your future,” she said. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t stupid. Despite what they had told her, she wasn’t ever stupid. She was young and so was everyone else. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet he convinced her that she was dirty. That she was something other than amazing. She didn’t do anything wrong. Why was she is she so convinced that she was bad and a terrible person? He told her that. He did things that were worse. Things that she didn’t dare tell me at that time.
That day I had promised my mother that I would make stellar grades. I wouldn’t let boys touch me. I wouldn’t give up. Not because I wanted to, but because the look in mom’s eyes told me that she was desperate. Desperate for a child to make up for what she thought were her shortcomings. No matter how many times I’ve told her that she didn’t do anything wrong, she won’t believe me. My mother is the most beautiful, strong, and kindest woman I’ve ever met, so I’ve kept my promise.
I am the oldest. I need to turn out right. I need to stop being a child. I want to make my mother proud. So far, I have. I haven’t gone near any drugs, alcohol, or guys. I’m sixteen. I just finished my sophomore year of highschool. I sit in my room and read. I don’t hang out with my friend very much. Is this what she wants? Does she want me to isolate myself in order to become the perfect daughter? I want to go to parties. I want to be a teenager. I want to stay out late and have fun, but I don’t.
My mom and I have never had a fight that resulted in yelling. I sit and take orders and do not disobey. I don’t want my mom to think she has failed as a mother, so I don’t fight back. Some twisted part of me wants to fight. I want to tell her that she’s wrong, but I can’t. I can’t because when I look at her, everything that makes me angry melts away.
I’ve been on antidepressants for about four years and I stopped taking them couple of weeks ago. Being on meds for me was interesting. I started going on meds in the sixth grade and now I’m in the tenth. I have next to no memory of my life in middle school. I remember who my friends were and favorite teachers were, but I don’t remember any events. I don’t even remember much from last year. It’s kind of scary how much of my memories are missing. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to make memories now and maybe learn how to cope with something I’ll have to deal with forever. I also did something very stupid. When I decided not to take my meds anymore, I didn’t slowly stop taking them. I just decided to quit taking them abruptly. I felt like crap, not just emotionally, but physically. I was bloated and couldn’t focus on anything. Every time I moved, I felt like I was being shocked throughout my body. By the time spring break is over, the medicine will hopefully be out of my system. I can’t help but wonder what it will be like without them during school. I’ll keep you guys posted.
I can’t seem to get a grip on my reality and my memories won’t stick in my brain. My life should be excitement. I mean, I have all the ingredients most deem necessary, but something’s missing. Time is slipping through my fingers and I’m running out of it quickly, but he won’t give me much more. I repeat the same tasks over and over again. I wait for something to change, but it will always be this way. I’m running in circles, but I can’t break the cycle. It will always be this way.
As I walk through the halls of my high school, my legs trudge through syrup. I run on a motor being powered by fumes of left over gasoline. My friends are slipping through my fingers like water and I can’t make it stop. But I don’t want to. I don’t have the energy to stop them. I’m balancing in the middle of good and bad. Emotions attempt to break into my mind, but only graze the surface. I feel nothing.