Please be reminded; any names of people portrayed in this series are altered to protect their identities.
After I watched Cory’s car disappear for the final time, I didn’t just break; I self-destructed. I cried myself to sleep nearly every night and lost my inspiration in all things. It was around the first time I started to inflict physical harm on myself. I didn’t know if it was as a result from losing Cory, or if it was simply a combination of the depression I’d been trying to keep at bay. I no longer cared about the reason; it just gave me a different kind of pain to focus on.
I got involved with someone new half a year later, eager to feel loved by someone; anyone. I found a pretty-boy named Michael who seemed to be almost as deluded as I was. He won me over with good looks and pretty words, but my lack of confidence and numbness of self was very obvious. We were only together for a couple weeks, and it wasn’t long before he started taking advantage of it. I found myself hanging out with he and his friends all the time, to whom he would insist to grab my chest because I had to be ‘felt to be believed.’
I didn’t let myself care. I just shrugged and went along with it. I would do anything to be accepted, and my body no longer meant much to me. Whatever I have to do to keep the loneliness away. No one ever did anything but feel me up, though. Still, I can’t say I’m happy about letting anyone put their hands on me. He called me his ‘angel’ and that was good enough for me.
One day, he took me home with him and we watched a movie, and we even started cuddling. He and I kissed a little, but I wouldn’t even call it making-out. For a moment, I felt something more than slight attraction, but it was late and I my ride home was waiting outside. I said goodbye and went on my way.
He started to mess with me. Some days, he would talk to me, others he would blatantly avoid me. I soon found out it was because he was getting involved with someone else. I couldn’t feel sadness anymore; all I felt was a rising anger that only worsened every day he continued the games. I had started to overhear stories at school. Stories that said I had forced myself on him, that I had practically raped him, and that I was just some whore that would fuck pretty much anyone who told me their name. I wasn’t very popular to begin with, but this made me one of the most-hated people around at the time, and the friends I’d had left stopped wanting to be around me.
I found him waiting for his bus one day when everyone else had already gone home. Content I had him alone, I told him I never wanted to seem him again and that whatever we’d had was done. I knew breaking up with him wouldn’t make my situation any better, but I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t come back to toy with my emotions and lack of social life again.
The next couple of months consisted of getting out of bed, going to school and wandering the city and graveyard until I could try to get home in time to intercept the automated call from the school saying I was absent. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I received many a stern lecture, but every word went through one ear and out the other. I didn’t want to have to hear it anymore. I didn’t want to hear the uttering threats and hateful names, knowing I had no one on my side who even cared whether or not the stories were true.
If I was going to be the ‘most-hated’ girl in school, I figured I should simply make myself scarce. People were not shy about saying my attendance was a waste of time and space. After a few months had passed, I started returning to school on-and-off , and the hate started to grow less obvious. Rather than threats and hateful words, I’d simply suffer the occasional dirty look. I was completely numb. The only time I felt anything was when I was angry, or when I crumbled and started hunting for the razor blade again to steal away my focus.
To be continued…