12/10/2021 Don't Hurt YourselfA personal statement by Wendy Darling. Warning: this submission contains mention of mental health struggles and suicide Every time I got hurt as a child-- which was a lot-- my mom would scold, “Don’t hurt my daughter!” I loved hearing this, like what happened to me wasn’t my fault. Like someone else was controlling my body. She wasn’t talking to me; she was talking to that Wendy. The Wendy who hurt me--not me.
-------- I crawl out of bed and walk to the bathroom. Honestly, I spend a lot of time on the toilet, just thinking. It’s the only time when you get a break. Just a few minutes in the bathroom; no one questions it. The dishes, the homework, the fake smile, the pretend happy. It’ll all have to wait. Every day is the same. Get up, get ready, go to school, come home, go to sleep. Not a single change. I throw on some clothes (the same jeans I wore last Wednesday, the plain black t-shirt I always pick). “Bye mom,” I say, even though she can’t hear me. Why does she never have time for me? Stepping onto the bus feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. We get to school 20 minutes early--my worst nightmare. I hate school. I keep my head up to look like I have a purpose. I walk straight into the bathroom and pretend to text; in reality, I’m scrolling through Instagram, seeing people posing with their friends, dancing, looking happy. I watch other girls come and go, gossiping about boys and teachers. I stay in the same spot; no one even acknowledges me. The bell rings--class starts in 6 minutes. I check the mirror so that I’m not the first one in the classroom, sitting in awkward silence with the teacher. I drudge upstairs, dreading class. I mentally prepare myself to see all of the other kids with their friends while I sit quietly, taking notes. I wish I weren’t so alone. -------- After 9 months in high school, I feel worse. I’m in trouble all the time because I can’t get out of bed; my parents think I’m being defiant. But I have a routine; every morning I go to the bathroom and wait for classes to start. If I just act like I’m happy, no one will question it. Things in my life are going well, but I can’t feel any of it. When I wake up today I feel so tired. Not like sleepy tired--just tired, like I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pull the blanket off of myself. I can’t walk to the bathroom. I can’t get dressed. I can’t put on makeup. I can’t do anything. Because what’s the point? -------- I’m 15 years and 3 months old when I decide to swallow an entire bottle of pills I found in my parents’ room. 86 pills, a glass of water, and 3 minutes is all it takes. Immediately after, I go into the garage, and I sit in the driver’s seat of the car my parents bought me. All I can think is “I hope they will understand.” -------- I now realize my parents were stuck dealing with the repercussions of my actions while I recovered. Although I felt pain and loneliness, I never realized the good in my life. When I attempted suicide, I didn’t think of how my sister would have to break the news to her 4-year-old daughter that her only auntie had died. I didn’t realize how my parents would have to find my corpse. Even though I did not die, my choice not only hurt me, but the people I loved most in the world. Since then, I have found all the good in my life. My family and I continue to deal with the repercussions of my actions but I am working toward mending the trust that I broke with them-- and myself. Comments are closed.
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AuthorAll works are submitted by CCHS students. |