A/N: Oh jeez. I'm sorry guys! I forgot to mention that this was MY story and that what happened is real. You can call it whatever you want, but it is a true story and while I regret it happening I felt that writing it would help me reflect a bit. I'm sorry if it a little cliche, but life is full of cliches and my middle school years are full of them... as so many of ours happens to be. Thank you for reading! Status

The Demon with a Special Name

AKA: The confessions of someone once lost.

I had no explanatin as to why I acted the way I did. It burdended me, creeping up at vulnerable times. I had so many questions for myself. It was like I had never met myself before, yet it was also like an awkward first date. All the answers were clipped... useless. I didn't know what to make of them.

Thus, I started to answer my own questions with lies. If anything I simply wanted to believe something. So I convinced myself that I was a monster that didn't deserve to live. I figured that every time I cut myself I would be releasing pieces of the monster. I didn't want to die unless I had to. After the first time I felt better. Once again, I had managed to convince myself of something... that my logic was truly working. Thus, I didn't have to actually kill myself, because I was slowly getting rid of the monster within. I mean, I felt better didn't I?

I look back and realize how stupid that was, but I wanted to believe something... so I did.

I started not wanting to go to church. My back was turned to God and I couldn't embrace it. I felt as if by believing in him I was betraying myself. If I believed in him I couldn't believe in myself too.

After awhile of this I began to clothe myself in as much black clothing as possible. I wanted to blend in with the shadows and be forgotten, when in reality I stood out more than anyone else. Everyone knew who I was, but I believed it was because they could see the monster in me. That's why they called me "emo" and "goth" and anything else hurtful that came to mind. They weren't insulting ME, they were helping me take down the monster.

I don't blame them, even now as I realize that I wasn't a monster. How could I? They were as confused by me as I was confused about myself. I didn't understand, at least not until someone told me I had a problem...

I had many friends. All of them accepted me for who I was, but they didn't like me cutting myself. A lot of them thought it was becasue I was suicidal. I let them believe it. All but two other people. They saw right through me; as if I were a ghost hovering above them and they were the observers trying to figure me out.

They knew that my cutting had become a drug, an addiction. They didn't tell me to stop; they flat out told me I had a problem. Of course, I didn't believe them. I refused to. How could they tell me how I felt? I remember that thought as clear as day, but their words echoed in my head.

I tried to hear something else the next time I cut. I wanted to hear what I always told myself, but the monster wouldn't come back. It wouldn't muffle their beat of nonsense.

Instead, I became engulfed with an emotion so deep that it scared me. A ripe anger at them, my friends. This anger confused me, yet I embraced it. Felt the tip of it brush my heart, awaiting its acceptance. Once taken in, it fed on my heart, ripping it to a simple organ that could barely feel at all.

That's how I liked it; somber, unaffective, emotionless.

Suddenly, like an epiphany, I realized something was wrong with me... my mind... my logic. I needed help figuing it out, but I didn't want to tell my parents. I wanted them to see. Hell, I needed them to see it!

So, I started writing poems. They conveyed the way I was feeling and put those emotions to life. My cuts became less deep, but they were still there. A sign that I needed help; a reminder of what I'd let myself believe.

I went the extra limit and showed my parents the poems; they didn't get it. I don't know if it was because they wanted to be blind to it or they seriously didn't see the change. Although, a case of serious writer's block eventually captivated me and the cuts came back worse than before.

One day, in a mere panic, I gave my Nana a poem of mine. She read it and immediately afterwards she questioned me. If anything it wasn't a question at all.

"You're hurting yourself, aren't you?" The words floated around my brain temporarily throwing me off. I'd wanted them to be said the whole time, but when they were presented to me I panicked.

"No," the word came swiftly to my lips. I'd been lying about how I was okay all along and it came just as easily as ever. She didn't buy it.

"You know you can tell me anything." She was right, I could, but... did I want to?

I told her what I'd been doing and the recovery process began. At least, that's what I told myself.

I was taken to a psychiatrist to help me recover and I told him what was going on. I didn't 'beat around the bush' or 'chase the rabbit'. I flat out explained to him that I wanted to die and I wasn't afraid to do it myself. I even gave him information on the monster I'd been trying to blame it on in the beginning. In the end, it turned out that I did have a demon... with the name 'bipolar'. The psychiatrist gave me some pills to make me feel better.

I was a kid in a candy store... for awhile.

Then, the pills hit me hard. I went from feeling every emotion known to man to feeling nothing at all. I was numb making a slow walk down a hall to somewhere off in the distance. I can honestly tell you that I don't remember much from those times. The only memories I contained from that period of time was the ones were I felt strong emotions.

Eventually, I discarded the pills and made my own road to recovery. That long street has provided me with many obsticles, but has made me who I am today... a very happy person who can control her 'demon'.

Through the whole process I admit that I don't regret ever feeling any of that, because it has made me a stronger person. One of my friends once said, "I would rather fall than live the rest of my life wondering if I could fly," and I totally agree...