I remember as a child I felt so unloved. The loneliness was so unbearable. My parents worked long hours and then came home and spent most of the time in their bedroom. I woke myself up, got myself ready and off to school while they were at work. I came home and did my chores and my homework while they were still at work. The loneliness was haunting. I was sure no one loved me. Not even my parents. When they were around they were angry and disappointed with me constantly. I always felt like a failure. I know my parents never meant to make me feel this way. As a matter of fact, I’m sure they had no idea.
I once heard a story of a little boy who was waiting at the bus stop for school one morning. He was so sad that no one loved him and he just dropped dead right there at the bus stop. I just knew that story was true, and that it told of my own fate. That maybe my heart would stop beating or my soul would just disappear, without love. I hate to say that it only got worse from there. As I grew into my teen years I often thought of dying. Of taking my own life. I became obsessed with death even. I began to write poetry about death and despair.
my friend, my dear
hold me tightly, draw me near
wrap me in your rough, sweet arms
That is one of the first poems I can remember writing at about age 13. It wasn’t long before I began cutting myself. In my mind it was an attempt to take my life. I would pry the blades from the razors that I found in the bathroom. Then I would hide in my room and get up enough courage to start cutting as deep as I could bear into my wrists. I so wanted to die. I realized that it was going to take much more than that to actually complete the act. But the pain became my friend. Comforting. Because the pain of those cuts would dull out the deep emotional pain I felt. At least for a little bit. And I would crumple onto the ground in tears and despair until I could pull myself together enough to bandage my fresh wounds.
There was always a secret part of me that wished someone would see these cuts and care. Just care, that’s all. It was my cry for help, but I was too afraid to voice it to anyone. Because I knew I was beyond repair.
As I sit back now and read this, I am saddened. I feel so far removed from this girl who was so alone. You see, my life no longer resembles that picture of despair and hopelessness that I once had. I did live most of my life wandering in that darkness. But I don’t any longer, now that I have found the other side of darkness.