I walk through the mobs of classmates while staring down at my feet. I isolate myself with my walls to protect me. There are so many people; so many eyes that lay upon me. Once I reach my locker; I feel safe. Suddenly, someone cocky asks me why the hell I was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans when it was over 90 degrees outside. I'm suddenly trapped within a river of questions and fear, and feel both ashamed and self conscious about the several year old hooded sweatshirt which I've worn every other day, and the scathed jeans. I give this little unsure and uncaring grin and shrug my shoulders. I escape, but I can't stop the answer to the question. It screams in my head "because I have to"
I figured that by the afternoon, I would forget all about the fact that people were noticing my everyday wardrobe. Instead word reaches others, and back to me. Gossip becomes an enemy, but I can't simply stop it by telling the truth. I let it pass but endure the comments and opinions that scar me and make me feel worse. I want to disappear. I getaway eventually, but only from harsh words. Once home I hide in my room for awhile, or upstairs, away from eyes. Some time later, I glance at the past wounds that have obscured my entire body. Memories wash over, and depression sinks in once more. Suddenly my name is shouted with a curse. I wonder what I have done. But, after, I don't care. The only thing that is on my mind on how I should hide the newly inflicted bruises upon my flesh. I start crying. What am I supposed to do? I can't take this much longer. I mumble a prayer, and I take the blade, and feel that I have not been punished enough. I feel that living is a crime. I'm too scared to take away the pain, and I'm too scared to live with it.
