I don’t really know what triggers me. Okay so that’s not entirely true. I mean I guess I know but it’s kind of hard explaining it. I know that being alone is one.

At a boarding school, it easy to think, oh I will never be lonely.

You can get very lonely. Very.

Yes, you’re surrounded by people. But it’s very easy to get lost. Everybody has their group, and while you think that you have your own group, you may find that maybe you don’t fit in anywhere. That’s me. I float around, trying to find my space, my place here. I know I have friends, but when your shy and have low self-esteem like me, it’s hard to reach out to people. My past has not taught me to reach out to people, to trust. I mean, I know that I can trust some people, I really do. I just can’t. My heart won’t let me. And they say your heart never lies. No matter how much I want to trust, I keep my distance. I think I hurt a lot of people that way, I don’t know. I mean, how would you feel if the person that you trust didn't trust you back?

Another trigger is flashbacks.

When I say flashbacks, I mean anything from just seeing handwriting, hearing a lyric or a name, to seeming blacked out to others around me while I’m “revisiting” a time in my past. I hate flash backs more than anything. There is nothing like thinking you have finally pulled yourself out of the sadness of your past, only to be sucked back in with one little push. One little push. That’s all it takes for me to go back into the depression I thought I was over.

Then there is low self-esteem.

I always had low-self-esteem, I have always known it. What little self-esteem I had left was completely torn down in my freshman year. I really liked a guy in my class, but he was dating my best friend, so it’s not like I could tell anyone. So I kept it to myself and tried not to seem too happy when he started talking to me. We would talk about anything and everything. He was just so easy to talk to. I had fallen in love.
Now before you start thinking, she just thinks she was in love, she is too young to know what love is, let me tell you something. I am very, very uncomfortable around most guys. Others I have gotten used to, I know that they won’t hurt me. I always knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Or at least that’s what I thought. Even when he did hurt me, I still wanted him.

Anyway, we continued to talk and I thought that was all that would ever be. That is until he kissed me. That led to a twisted, confusing, heart breaking year and half long relationship. For me anyway.

For him it was a get-what-you-want-cuz-you-know-she-cant-say-no-to-you-cuz-you-know-she-truly-loves-you time of his life.
He got what he wanted and in the end I got a shattered heart. I guess I asked for it in a way, but that doesn't help matters. When he told me later that he only like my body and that it was my fault that I fell in love with him, I was done. I tried cutting so deep I would die, but what happened was scars that I will have forever to remind me of him.

Somehow I have managed to go on with life, but if you asked me if I was over him, I would have to tell you, NO. They say you never forget your first love. I have realized how true that is….

Anyway, with him just using me for my body, it really hurt. I didn't think I was good enough for anything else, but I didn't want anyone messing with me again, so I basically shut myself off form the rest of the male population except for one guy, my best guy friend Benjamin. He never really knew what was up until I told him recently, but he was still there for me. He made me laugh, and that was the best thing for me at the time.

I have gotten out of my shell somewhat now for boys. I have guy friends now and I’m happy I have them. Sometimes it’s just better to talk to a guy then a girl. Plus they don’t start drama. AMEN. But I’m not fully open to them like I could be. Not like I have been before.

I’m not really open to anyone anymore. I can express my feelings much better on paper. When I am able to write, I feel free. When I read, I can escape. I learned to read before kindergarten. When I read a book, it’s like I’m living in it. Most of my friends are like, “Ugh! I hate reading!” And I just sit there, like, “How can you hate reading?!?” Maybe it’s because I grew up without internet or a T.V. I actually have an imagination. Not many people understand my writing because they can’t grasp the concept of creativity, of having an imagination that lets you do anything, be anything you want. I don’t try to make them understand what I’m writing about. It’s something you've got to know, you have had to feel it.

Some people think I am depressed. I really don’t know how to explain myself. I mean, there are definitely times where I just want to crawl in a hole and pull the hole in after me, but then there are moments that I am so happy; I wouldn’t trade it for anything. So maybe I’m semi-depressed, I don’t know. But doesn’t everyone else have feelings like that too? I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person in the world that feels the way I do. I know I have been, I guess you could say, diagnosed, with Bi-polar Disorder, but it’s not that bad. My mother has it, it shows; my sister has it, its shows; but I don’t think it really shows in me. I think it’s because of the way I take control of my emotions.
Well, when I say control, I’m not saying I have a lot. If I get mad or upset, I usually keep it inside. I keep piling incident after incident on top of each other, bottling it all up inside of me. But it’s just like a volcano. After a while, there is just too much pressure and I explode, usually on the unfortunate person who happens to be around me at the time. And when that happens, I feel horrible, knowing that I hurt that person. That feeling is another trigger.

Like I said, when I feel I have hurt someone, or if I think that someone is mad at me, I feel horrible. I can’t stand it. Knowing that I have caused someone pain kills me. So when I do feel that I may have or might hurt someone, I have to get what I feel out before I cause hurt to that person. So I end up hurting myself. When I first started cutting myself, I thought I was doing others a favor. I was releasing the pain I felt inside on myself to I wouldn't hurt others. This started in 7th grade, no one found out. 8th grade, no one found out. 9th grade, some of my friends found out, but they really didn't know what to do about it. I don’t think they ever thought they would have been with someone who purposely hurt themselves. No one should, really. I wish no one would. But they found out, I remember, Daniel and Alyana. We were in English class and I had pushed up my sweater sleeve to dig around in my back pack for a pencil. When I came back up they were looking at me like I was sick or something. I soon realized what they were looking at. Some people, who cut, can use the excuse that their dog or cat scratched them. I can’t use that because I almost never cut in a straight line. When I cut, its letters, words, or symbols. Your cat really can’t do that to you. So I had to tell the truth about it when they asked me later. Daniel, being the guy, really didn’t freak out that much; he just wanted to know who made me cut so he could beat him or her up. Alayna though, she wanted to know why in the world someone would hurt themselves so much. When I told them I was protecting them, they really didn't understand, but they didn't press the issue. But they became more aware of my moods, how I would act when I felt a certain way. They never told anyone, because I asked them too. I guess in a way, they should have, but also in another way, it showed me that there really is trust worthy people out there.

10th grade, this year, I found out how cutting really does hurt other people. I had lain off on the cutting for a while, I was writing more instead. Then came the day that Mathues told me the truth of how he really felt about me. I felt dead inside. I desperately wanted to feel something, anything, anything but the dull sense of emptiness inside. So I cut Mathues initials into my arm, along with No Trust. Mathues has four initials, M.A.C.S, and I made them big. I thought that if I couldn’t have him with me physically, I would at least have him forever in my skin. I finished right before dorm worship, so I had to cover my arm with a sweater. I didn't talk to anyone, but my friend Cindy saw that something was wrong with me. She went to my room afterwards and tried to talk to me. Finally she was just like, “what’s wrong brook! Just tell me!”

So I showed her my arm. I was not prepared for her reaction. Cindy, my strong, strong friend Cindy, started to cry.

Watching her cry is one of the worst things I have ever had to do. I have never hated myself more than I did then. I wish I could tell you that I never cut again after that but I cant. But if I ever feel the urge, I try to write it out on paper. Sometimes that’s not enough and I end up caving. But having Cindy’s face in my mind, of her crying over ME, because of ME is the worst. I try not cutting just for her.

But you know what? Telling a person to stop cutting is like telling a writer to stop writing. Telling a singer to stop singing. Telling a dancer stop dancing.

It’s not possible. Not all at once. And definitely not alone.

I try my best and that’s all I can do. So far I’m doing okay, and I have friends that are there for me. I know I have a lot of issues to work on, but I believe I can conquer them. I have turned more to writing, it helps me a lot. Like I said, writing down my thoughts helps me calm down and clear my head. Because I of what I write, I don’t let very many people read my work, only those who I think will understand what I am talking about, people who won’t judge me.

The poetry and stories I write are varied. I tend to lean towards the super natural, characters who are immortal and/or have powers, but not happy about it. Even though the “normal” people around them think that it would be awesome to be like them, they alone know how hard it is to be different from the people around them. All they want is to be average, normal, just like the rest.

It’s the same with us in the real world. We are all different, yet we all want to be the just like the next person, we can’t accept who we are; we always have to be something more. I have the same problem. I hate being me. I have always wanted to be someone entirely different. I wanted a different body and a different life altogether. I’m still trying to live with myself.

Another thing that is almost all my writing has a reference to darkness and shadows in it. Everyone is like, “oh, the dark is evil, blah blah blah.” Well, in a way they are right. Darkness doesn't tend to have beautiful things in it; media has made it look and sound scary. I, on the other hand, love the dark. To me it’s almost comforting, knowing I can hide from the light of the judgmental world for some period of time. It’s a time when I feel most calm. The light can be very cruel, light pin points every flaw you have. Darkness hides the flaws. No, it doesn't get rid of them, but it hides them. In darkness everyone has the chance to get along.

As a character says in one of my favorite books, Beautiful Darkness, “In light there is darkness, and in darkness there is light.” I could not agree more. The light is not perfect, and the Dark is not all evil. In movies and in books, ugly things come from the darkness, and beautiful things come from the light. But what also ends up happening most of the time is that the beautiful things end up being the cruel, wicked things. All the beautiful popular girls end up being the bullies. All the hot boys end up abusive. On the flip side, the unattractive people, the loners, have beautiful hearts. The people who are deemed “different” are treated horribly. Do they retaliate? Sometimes, yes. But usually, they stick with their torment until the end. And by the end, I mean they kill themselves. There is only so much pain people can handle. That leaves one less true soul in the world, and a million more fake ones.

There were times, as I said, that I wanted to kill myself. I still get that feeling sometimes. It’s not like you ask for it. Sometimes the loneliness gets too hard to bear, or the hurt that someone gives you is too much to handle. But I guess what I’m learning is that sometimes you got to talk to people about your feelings. They might not even know that they have hurt you. You have to communicate. I know it’s not easy sometimes, you may think you hate the person and you never want to talk to them again. But it feels so much better working things out than just sitting there stewing. Just getting enough courage or putting down your pride is the tough part.

That’s pretty much all. Well, it’s not all but it’s the” long story short” version. Even though it wasn't very short, I know. It’s taken me more than one day to write this, in in those days, things have happened, not always for the good. But I’ve kept on, and hopefully you, the person reading this, is getting that not everything is as it seems. Maybe you’re living your own “secret” life that no one know about. What I would suggest is finding someone mature and old enough to tell. Yeah, I know, that’s what they all say, but it really helps. I found someone I could trust at my school, and I’m pretty sure there were others in my life that would have been only too happy to listen to me and help me out.
If you’re wondering if one of your friends might be having a hard time, the best thing to do is just be a friend. A true friend that is always there for them, because knowing that you have someone that you can trust completely, it’s one of the best feelings ever. And when you are that trustworthy person, that’s a good feeling too.

If you have someone’s trust though, take great care not to break it. Trust takes a while to build up, only one second to tear down, and forever to repair