User blog:Wounded soldier/this is my story

     “I’m sorry” is all she could say…

The words “I’m sorry” stretched across her torso, fore arm, thighs, chest, and hand. She feels obligated to apologize for everyone else’s problems. She feels as though the world is on her shoulders, and if she makes one wrong move, it crumbles. It will all fall on account of her failure…

   Everything depends on her.

   She feels alone, tormented, judged, hate, criticized, frowned upon. She feels their eyes following her.

   She falls to her knees.

   She crashes in tears.

   She is done.

   She sits writing poetry.

<span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   Stuffy nose, and teary eyes. Her hands become shaky and unsteady.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She freezes.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   It’s over for her.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She begins typing her story about how she had felt over the past couple days on her dell pc. She explained how she had felt as though everyone was watching every move she made. She couldn’t last the rest of the school day and it was only 3rd hour…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   What is she to do?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   How is she supposed to handle them staring at her?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   These two simple words cover her cerebrum, cerebellum, thalamus, amygdala, and every other part of her brain. These two simple words…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   I’m sorry…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She depends on her friends to make her crack a smile, or maybe even laugh.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She waits… It never comes. The relief of joy never comes.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She cries again… <p class="MsoNormal" style="border-style:none;border-width:initial;padding:0in;"><span style="font-size:14.0pt; line-height:107%;font-family:"AgencyFB",sans-serif">   And then she says goodbye… <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She starts to identify herself. Instead of “she”, it’s now “I”…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   I begin to recognize that this is MY story…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   And then the recognition is gone.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She is alone, listening to her music. “Panic! At the Disco” of course. After doing her test she begins writing again. Nothing is distracting her from finishing this. She continues on even though her fellow peer’s demeanor is to be utterly annoying… She’s officially distracted… Ok. Focus.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   She writes alone.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif"> Once again these two meaningless words cover her Aorta, Septum, Semilunar valve, and every other part of her beating heart.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   I’m sorry…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   But the remaining questions are 1. What is she sorry for? 2. For how much longer will her heart be beating? and 3. Who will be able to save her?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   These three remaining questions. These three reasons to keep breathing until they are answered…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   How much longer does she have?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   Will she be able to last?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   Will she sustain the venomous poison pumping through her veins?

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:107%;font-family: "AgencyFB",sans-serif">   If only they could hear inside of her head. They would never look at her the same again. They wouldn’t look at her as the girl who draws on herself to get attention. They wouldn’t look at her as the girl who is crazy or demented.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'AgencyFB',sans-serif;font-size:14pt;line-height:107%;">   The demons have controlled her mind in the past but never before have they gotten to her like this. She’s even worse than before, but this time she comes prepared. This time she knows not to play with the razor blade. She has shed enough blood in her life, there isn’t enough time left to shed any more of her own. Especially anyone else’s as well. She would have to face this the best way she knew how. Expressing herself trough words.