Finding Her Again

9 - Emo

natalie

"What are you doing?" Cassie came into the room.

I thought she was talking about me and Mackenzie. Somehow she found out about what happened last night.

But then I realized she meant was I doing sitting at the kitchen table at 12 in the afternoon, looking through old looking papers. "I was reading the stuff my dad left for me last time he was here."

"Well what are you reading now?" She sat in the chair next to mine.

I looked down at the assignment my writing teacher gave me the first day of writing class my senior year. "Something about a feeling we can't describe to anyone else, or something. Senior year. The class me and Mac had together."

"Oh so we're back on a nickname basis for her." She raised her eyebrows then looked back at the paper, "Can I read it?"

I shrugged, "It's emo but sure."

She took the paper from my hands and read it quickly. "Holy shit."

"What?"

She handed it back to me and raised her eyebrows. "Have you reread this?"

"I hadn't yet."

"You need to. I had no idea senior year you felt like that."

"Oh my God, like what?"

"Read it."

I rolled my eyes and looked down at the paper,

I'm happy here.
That is a sentence I would love to say and actually mean. The truth is, I'm not happy. I don't know any teenager that is happy with their life right now.
People my age dream about the day they graduate high school, move out, and finally have a life of their own. I dream about the day I can finally feel like a normal person.
I don't feel real but at the same time, all I can feel is sadness.
I cry so much and I know it's not normal.
I hate the way I look and the way I act and decisions I make.
I can't do anything right. I feel more alone than I have in a long time. And I am far from it. I have
good friends. I have a good family. I have a good life.
But nothing seems real. I feel like even my sadness doesn't actually exist. I'm just floating outside of my body and I can't help myself. No one can help me.
I feel like no one understands what's actually wrong with me. I don't even understand what's
wrong.
When I'm sad, they treat me like I'm a burden but when I show the slightest bit of any other emotion, I'm acting out.
Even my cries for help don't get their attention. It just makes them more upset with me. I tried to kill myself in November last year and they took my phone away for a week. I relapsed a few weeks after that and they grounded me to the house for a month. When I first started smoking more, they started treating me like a drug addict. They called me a drug addict. They didn't ask if I was okay or if they could help.
And maybe I'm just being overdramatic? I mean, a lot of people have it way worse than me.
Apparently, all of these signs point to some kind of trauma I've experienced. But my life isn't necessarily shitty. I grew up with a dad and I have a great family. My mom is sick but she does everything in her power to help us forget that. My brothers are two of my favorite people on this planet. Nothing in my life has impacted me in a way that should cause me this much trouble.
All I want to do is have a reason to feel like this. To feel like such a waste of space. A waste of time. All of my friends go to parties and have good grades and actually live their lives. I feel like I'm wasting my life away doing nothing.
I love music but all of the artists I can actually relate to are dead. I feel like that's what I should be.
No one really knows what comes after death. I don't know if I believe in heaven. I don't know if I believe in God. I don't know if I believe in anything. Maybe there is life after death but I don't want it. I can't do this again. All I want to be is gone. But if I tell someone that, they'll look at me like I'm completely insane. Like I'm suicidal or something. Which I don't consider myself to be. I just want to stop feeling this indescribable pain I wake up to every single day.
I can't even figure out what's wrong with me. What's wrong with my brain to cause me to feel physically ill.
I want to scream but when I do, it still doesn't help.
I write short stories to escape the hell I call my life.
I read books to travel far away from the pain I'm in.
I cut up my body to make myself feel something other than sadness.
Nothing helps me.
Nothing will ever help me until I'm dead.

Holy shit, that bitch was emo.

"Do you still feel like that?"

I stared at her, "I'm Natalie Matthews. That was definitely a phase."

"So I guess it's proof that things really do get better." She stood up and squeezed my shoulder.

"Huh. I guess so."