Loneliness.

A constant companion of mine, In depth it's entering a cave. As you go deeper, the sticky feeling of the heavy darkness settles and eclipses you. The scent of iron and salt as you descend until you hit a dead end. To distract yourself by thoughts or deeds. I placed myself in a whole other world through dreams.

I've always found solace in sleeping, because it's an escape from the cruel world. Lately, I've been thinking if I fell asleep and didn't wake up, it would be better for me and the world. I plan to take sleep medication, then sleep in the hopes I don't wake up.

Today is the day. Right after school I will come home and escape permanently. I stare at my reflection as I get ready for school, brushing my curly hair in an attempt to tame it.  I look to the colorful graphic tee shirt, distracting from my fuller figure. Two necklaces tangle around my neck. Only one is seen by everyone else, a black leather necklace which leads to a sliver circle a Celtic symbol.  Under my shirt is a special beaded necklace, That I had since I was in kindergarten the key to the other me I know I am.

  Fingering it gently, I recall when it all started with a game.

  The scents of sunscreen and fresh cut grass come to mind. My cousins who I had grown up like my own siblings, decided to play a different imaginary game. Each of us would make characters and companions to the characters we made. Little did we know our characters would come to life over the years. We made: weapons, armor, and beaded headband necklaces. Each necklace symbolized each one of our characters. I feel the smooth wood, light green, bead in the middle of my headband. Other smaller beads around it in colors of green, purple, and shades of blue. Strung together on a deep emerald green string.

  I was the healer, I could see myself as my character with my brown hair. Her green eyes like their own forest. I saw her firm boots, to my own shoes. How she took care of everyone in camp, was who I wanted to become.  After the move from my beloved home I was thrown into a new town, where the people were different. My character changed to having immense emotional pain, and became a dark mage fighting against her labels and self. As I soon found myself changing and becoming her new side.

Wearing this, reminded me I could escape and make it home every day. Even my headband seemed to be worn from my loss of hope.  I slip it back under my tee shirt. Taking one last glance at my dark colored jeans, and gray shoes, slipping on  sweatshirt completes the outfit.

I wait for the bus listening to my Sansa (a type of mp3), all the songs sounding the same to me: rage, sorrow, and hurt. I feel completely empty, I don't feel anything at all. Eventually, the yellow prison called the school bus comes. I grip the railing tightly as I make sure I meet each step with confidence.

A memory reminds me why it's so crucial.

The bus screeches to a halt at my house. A joy for all families who live on corners, your house is automatically a bus-stop. I get up the piercing stares, sneers, horrid comments, and body checks of my fuller figure as I pass by. I try to hurry off the bus to block them out. I keep reminding myself I'm almost home. Where the same routine would play. I'd go to my room, take a nap, wake up, and draw until mom came home from work. One more step and I will be free from torment, A sudden jerk and crack snaps my mind from that thought My mind screams No! Not here in front of everyone!  Cruel laughter erupts from the open prison doors as I land on my side on the asphalt.

Tears fall, as I sit up wincing as my body protests. I know I can't move my leg until my knee snaps back into place. I've always had problems with my knees dislocating. I look  around for anyone who stepped off the bus to help. No one responds to my silent pleas of help. I try to close my eyes. Adjusting my fallen brace using my right leg to get up. The bus driver giving me a look to move onto the road off the sidewalk curb because he doesn't have all day. The look also had a certain numb pain and emptiness each grown up gives to kids just like me. Along with the words "kids will be kids."   I know I have to continue the agonizing journey to the other side of the road, up the driveway to the door. Despite the pain, and my head, screaming warnings I'd pay dearly if I began walking to my house. I get up anyway, hobbling in the attempt to make it across the street. I feel something crack and snap, then crack again. I fall this time in the middle of the road in front of the bus. The laughter increases to a roar.

Just when I had begun to feel that I should shrivel up and die. Due to the roaring laughter erupting from the yellow prison.

At the moment a strong arm slips under mine. My tear filled eyes met with soft, brown eyes and brown hair similar to my own. I recognized the features immediately, They belong to a boy who lived farther down in the subdivision. He tells me to stand and put my weight on him. Once I do, He helps me to my house, up the driveway, to the front door. He rings the door bell adjusting his stance, rearranging his slipping hold. After a long silence the door creaks open. Noticing immediately that it is my step dad. His slicked black oily hair bobbed as his blue gray eyes were tied down to" his life" known as the Iphone 1.(yes, the very first one.) The T.V. blared his current show "Yes?" he says with a bored irritated voice.  The boy replies "Hello sir, sorry for the disturbance. Your daughter is hurt."  I look to my step dad, I'd rather die than be called his daughter.  This move was all his fault, taking my friends and mom from me. Making me have new siblings who didn't mind to make cruel jokes about me. Of me becoming an outsider to this alien school. Keeping my real father  away due to his jealousy.  Because he broke my family apart, forever. I did not like my step father at all.
  My bus driver stares at my stilled self eyes lost in the memory. "You sit down!" he barks. I snap back as  I look around on the bus and find an empty seat. It's  in the middle front of the bus. I take it, sliding in by the window setting my pack down, declaring the rest of the space.

As cruel words are thrown and whispers spread the memory continues.

I was taken to the ER, as soon as my mom came home from work. My ankle was swollen  to the size of a baseball. The x rays of my ankle showed I had 3-d rolled it, injuring and slightly ripping my tendon and ligament on my right side. My left knee the one that dislocated was fine. I was told it would have been better if I broken my ankle.

I was given crutches, a nice gift for one who is injured. At least it would be a gift, if I could balance right. Along with knees that dislocate,. I was blessed with a problem with my balance.

My mom, knowing this, ordered a scoter for my hurt ankle to rest on as I pushed with my left leg. Using the scooter. my knee would bend settling on the pads while my ankle in a air cast resting on the other pad.
At school I would be pushed off my little scooter. Or people would come by and slam their hand on my hurt ankle.
I shutter, ghostlike pain rushing through me of that memory.

The yellow prison jerks to a stop, having my head hit against the seat. We have arrived to the High School, I stand shouldering my back pack. I keep my head down knowing my status. Ever since I went to school because I was different.

Wandering the halls I'm ran into by someone as the whispers, sneers, and laughter follow me.  I look up to the person as I see my personal bully from Middle School who has been relentless in tracking me down. In turn from the previous year embarrassing her by being kind. I was like her for less than half a year in elementary. Trying to get attention, or releasing my pain by attacking people.  I realized in that time, how much I hated that.   Promising to myself from then on I would take the pain in defending someone.  Though when I saw her I saw myself and how much I understood what she was doing.

  I was promised by my friends and family that high school would be different, that it would be better. Not much has changed from my school experience. Welcome to high school.

The bell rings for first period, I enter class a little late. Those that follow are the same; teachers brag about themselves, lecture, test their students, and lecture again. With my grades being decent, they don't really care about me drawing in my notebook when I really needed to take notes. I didn't feel the need to care, the feeling of nothing overwhelming me was like being in my cave of the eerie quiet. The only scents are rain and iron. Rain, from the tears I keep crying inside. And iron from the loss of blood, and how I keep emotionally dying over and over.

In seminary, half way through my day, I slip in sitting down in the back. I pull out my journal and begin drawing hearing our lesson was on pornography. I roll my eyes and keep to myself. Not paying attention to the lesson at all, as I write my thoughts trying to form my last note. In which my family and friends would find. For the conclusion we watched a Mormon Message called Watch Your Step by Jeffery R. Holland. I sigh deciding to watch it since it was too dark to draw or write. In the video a little girl runs after her leaving father. I choke back emotion, only seeing me in my father's room asking after a horrible fight where he was going and if he was coming back. The girl in the video is in tears, as I was the flashback of me asking my dad, looking into his face, the scent of stale oil paint of the room he'd never return to.  I hugged and begged him not to go. But all I remember is stumbling his back to me and how he left me there. 

The girl runs out the front door onto the side walk after her dad's car, she slows breaks down sobbing.  My eyes stream tears as the video continues flashing on the parent’s fighting, reminding me of the tension of my current home life. Every night fights would break out the worst ones always on Sunday. The video shows how the family fell apart and how the young man wanted to change everything.

In this video, a single line stood out to me "Picture the faces of those who love you and how shattered they'd be if you let them down."  As soon as that line was spoken, I was taken to the day of my funeral.  It was a noon of late spring, where the flowers begin to fall off the trees.  A sunny and bright day, the scent of rose and lily petals carried in the still air.  Rows of chairs black cushions with purple ribbons wrapped around them. Towards the front of the first row of chairs.  I saw a huge oval image of myself in a ring of white lilies it stood in a pool of water where the petals fell and made ripples in the stilled water. I choked as my heart jolted in a jerk motion to my throat. As I started down the path between the chairs of flower petals I pause seeing friends, and family in black crying their eyes out.  For a girl who was so beaten by the world she lived in. That she was convinced it would be better if she didn't exist.  Fighting my own tears I continue up the path. Passing the photo to the casket it was a deep brown red with gold trim.   I place a hand on it sobbing and turn to everyone watching me.  Everyone I loved each having a glow about them. I watched each glow fade to a dark glow to eventually nothing.  This isn't what I wanted! My mind screamed. I knew I couldn't leave those who I cared for. I would be hurting them so deeply, it would be unforgiveable. 

  I stared sobbing as the spirit bares testimony of how precious I am to my Heavenly Father. To my siblings who needed me at home to the few friends who shared my pain. That it was selfish to go through with the deed. I looked down to the letter before me and rip up, leaving the class room quickly to clean myself up. While in the bathroom, I felt the courage of a lion. Ready and determined to make it through. The strength and support of thousands of people. I pause pondering over my awe of the strength Heavenly Father gave to me in that moment. To keep going, and the power of my worth was as real as my glimpse of what would have been.  Praying for forgiveness, I made a promise I would not abuse his gift of my body, or the life he gave me.

Looking back on this day, I am reminded of how one who descends so low, can rise higher than ever anticipated. That is worth all the pain: the mental barriers, the dislocating joints, the cruel scars of words, and the actions of my peers.  To stay in this mortal life and live it to the fullest.