What would you think if I told you that I wished I was beat when I was kid? Well, since you have no idea who I am you'd probably be like "Get away from you fucking freak!" If you do know who I am then that's kinda of weird, because I'm a nobody to many people and a fag to a certain few, but hello either way. Some you must be thinking "Why would you ever want that?" And the answer to that is kind of long. When I was younger I had a bad first break up with this bitch, and I felt so depressed that I started to hurt myself. Not just the usual cutting, I kind of thought that was cliché, so I would only eat about one meal a day and a couple times I tried to choke myself. Yeah, I was what many people would call a "Little emo fag" but I just wanted someone there for me. I had my best friend, Olga to talk to, but she lived in another country. I couldn't talk to my Dad, because we never got along. No matter what we talked about he would some how find a way of saying I was wrong, but then say that he knows what I'm talking. Whatever I said and did was wrong, because it wasn't his way. I couldn't trust my Mom not to freak out and send me to a rehabilitation center or at least a therapist. She has been seeing one recently for post traumatic stress disorder. Oh, and did I mention she has obsessive-compulsive disorder and she bi-polar? Both of which are hereditary. I'm pretty sure I have OCD, but I don't know about being bi-polar. And just because you're bi-polar doesn't mean you're crazy, but it can change your mood in an instant, and that scares me. When I was younger I used to have a really bad anger problem that I'm still dealing with, and thinking about it that could be a sign of the bi-polar thing, because sometimes I would get angry over the smallest of things... I don't know.
The rest of my family, my older sister and brother, I don't get along with much. My sister and I are always butting heads and I was a real dick to my brother growing up. Always hitting him and pushing him. For a long time we just lived in the same house, co-existing, and it was real stupid what I did. All because I couldn't control my anger. He and I are trying to work things out now though. He and I get together for about an hour everyday and do what we love to do. He plays the bass and I sing, even though we're both not very good, but it gives us something to talk about and bond with. Sometimes I think "What if we start a band?" When he was younger he always wanted to be in a band and make it big, but that fell apart because he was being to critical on himself and he got real depressed about it. I think now that I'm doing something musically with him he enjoys it much more. I've always wanted to be in a hardcore band. Over the years I've been learning how to do growls and screams... Maybe one day I'll convince my bro to do a song with me.
I'm getting off topic. What was I saying? Oh right! So yeah, it got a little easier to stop hurting myself because of music and writing. It was a distraction. The writing helped me to create a world I could escape to. A world I wanted to be in, where my Dad wasn't an ass, my Mom wasn't so broken she couldn't help me, my sister and I never fought, and I didn't mess up everything with my brother. I wrote everything I wanted to say to them and how I think that would go, which always ended up poorly. Whenever I got the urge I would grab a pen, my notebook, and my mp3, cranking the music up so loud I couldn't hear anything, even my own thoughts. Sometimes the urge would be too much and I'd start rubbing my arm and fidgeting with my fingers like a fucking crack whore who hasn't gotten her fix yet. Then I would grab my knife, which I left sort of sharp so it wouldn't cut very deep so I had to keep cutting the same spot until I thought it was deep enough. The more pain I felt the better, and I would cut in the bathroom, because that was the only room in the apartment that had a lock. I wouldn't cut my wrists like normal people do. It would be too visible and I didn't feel like wearing long sleeves forever, so I would cut my thighs and my chest. Only a few times did I cut my arms, but when my parents saw them I would just tell them I got it at work, which they believed. Eventually, I came to find someone who would fix everything... Rory.
I was friends with her for about seven or eight months and about six months after I met her we started really talking. It started with the usual stuff like how she was doing and stuff and it went on to talking about our lives, what was wrong and all that. Our relationship grew and eventually I asked her out. The same day I asked her out I gave her my knife, she was the only one I could trust, that I could talk to. I mean, my best friend, Olga, helped, but it's different when I can talk to someone face-to-face. Rory helped me so much. Just talking to her helped, but it was rough though. I still gave in a couple times and cut myself with a knife I found in my brother's dresser. She looked so sad when she saw the scars. She always does when she sees them. It became easier. There were some days that were horrible and I actually tried doing something, but I just cranked the music back up or Rory conveniently messaged me to say and asked how I was doing and then we'd talk and she'd make it all better. She always has a way of doing that. Without her I don't know what I would do or if I'd even be here. Alive. I make sure everyday that she knows how thankful I am for everything she's done for me. And here I am, telling you that I wished my Dad beat me as a kid so I could have a better reason to hurt myself. I did have a reason, and just because it wasn't anything big, doesn't mean that it was a stupid or an invalid reason. We all have our problems and no matter how big or how small they are we deserve someone who can help us, because everyone needs help now and then.
As long as someone is there for you it'll be alright. Maybe not as fast as you want it to be, but that would be easy and nothing in life is easy. You have to work hard for happiness. To some people that would going to good college so they can buy things they didn't have when they were younger and give their kids what they wanted. To others happiness is always being able to do whatever they want. They want freedom. For me, happiness is being with someone who always makes me smile even though we just had a fight, who makes me feel like nothing can hurt me, and will help me forget why I was feeling down or angry. It wasn't easy, still isn't. I'm fighting everyday to keep it. To keep her. To make sure that I can do something for Rory like she does for me. Make her feel special and happy. To lift her up when she's down. We've been through a lot and we'll go through more, but I can't imagine going through anything without her with me.