August, 2010

14 Years Old

Thunder clapped, lightning cracked, and rain hammered down right outside my window. It was as if I was having a conversation with the weather. 

I sat at the foot of my bed, my Nan’s blue and white blanket she crocheted for me, wrapped around me as I listened. The sound of the harsh storm was a comfort to my depression. It got me into a heated bate, a feeling I grew to love. 

The darkness became my best friend. It didn’t lie to me like my parents did. My parents made me believe that I was brave, strong, and smart, but I knew better than the lies that came with parents’ “unconditional” love. News flash, it’s almost always conditional, they just don’t tell you that. They make you believe that unconditional love exists.

I knew I wasn’t good enough. My teachers thought so. They saw more of my academia talent than my parents who only aided in my homework if I asked. So why should I believe the words told by my folks when they’re not the ones grading me?

If I don’t have it, then why should I even bother?

I could sit with the truth that my teachers were right. Better I know now than trying to apply to university and falling flat on my face. I’m not smart enough for anything.

How could my parents think that private school education and standards were the right fit for me? I was falling further and further behind as my mental health continued to plummet. Schools these days were supposed to have a zero-bully tolerance, and yet Sunnydale College did nothing. Rocks were thrown at me and not one girl or boy was reprimanded despite several witnesses, and it being caught on camera.

I wasn’t protected. My parents did what they could, entrusting a school’s word against their own daughters. They also didn’t want to pull me out with only one term to go, though changing schools was definitely an option, but was it though? Moving from primary to high school, the change didn’t protect me from the wrath of students and teachers. 

I longed for the escape to a fantasy land, I was still waiting for that bloody letter to whisk me away. It was nothing more than a mere dream, so I let myself escape into the deep realms of “fandom” Tumblr, pretending to be someone I’m not.  

'Will it ever get better?' I asked God. 'Why should I continue to talk to you if none of my prayers have been answered? All I want is a signal as to why you've allowed me to be bullied. Why, God?'

Like always, there was no response. My faith was hanging by a thread. Unsure where to turn.

‘What’s the point of believing in something if nothing good ever happens to those who should deserve it? Karma is bullshit because good things happen to the shitty people.’

I grabbed the closest throw pillow, drawing it to my ear and shoved it like a shotput ball towards the wall. I watched as it hit the framed picture collection of my friends and me on a boat near the Great Barrier Reef a couple of months ago. They fell, the glass shattering and ripping into the pillow, the case was one mum had made me when I was a kid.

‘Fuck,’ I muttered. ‘Oh well, it was a shitty pillowcase anyway.’

But it wasn’t. It was a sentimental piece of craftwork that mum and I had done together.

My sobs filled the air, mixing in with the storm outside. 

I continued to sit in the cold darkness, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The walls felt like they were closing in as I continued to feed her brain more lies, slowly embracing the 'dumb blonde' mentality that my teachers were inflicting. I always thought my destiny was medicine or something in healthcare, like nursing, but now, I wasn’t so sure. 

'Maybe I'm not supposed to live past 14.’

Last last string of sanity went out the window. 

The thunder’s roar grew louder as it shook the house. Nobody goes six years of bullying and abuse without the string snapping and crashing to rock bottom. 

The last straw for me was getting told, 'You won't get higher than a C,' by one teacher when all I asked for was help. Though it was painfully obvious that I was so close, with B- to B's in other criteria but missed out significantly in the heavier areas, she couldn’t even lend some advice, while I listened to my one of my mates get help when he asked the same question. Mind you, he was getting A’s as it was.

It was almost like I was a beacon for negative energy. Nobody else, at least that I was aware of, got the same treatment; I was picked out of 23 kids per class. I was over it. 

'I hate it here. What's the point anymore?' 

With the bullying getting worse and being left out academically, I was losing sight of myself. 

Who am I if I’m not meant to be a doctor?

There were so many other great options out there, but at the rate that I was going, all I was destined for was an Arts Degree or finding a job with just as much meaning without getting a degree.

 Is the plan to die at the ripe age of fourteen? 

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I stood shakily towards the mirror. 

'Do I want to die?' I cocked my head to the side, just like her dog, Cocoa, did whenever she heard her favourite word; “walk”. It was the anticipation as I studied my reflection’s expression.

Thunder clapped loudly above. I jumped at the sudden noise and the thought of death went away but replaced with harm. I pressed my long fingernails into my skin as hard as I could go. I looked over to the words of affirmation mum stuck on my mirror a few months ago, envisioning them burning to the ground.

I grunted as I dug my nails in further. Chanting, 'Lies. Lies. Lies. I am stupid. I am ugly. I am an imposter. I hate it here. Nobody loves me. Nobody wants me. What's the fucking point?'

A sharp fiery pain in my palms caused me to stop. I immediately pulled my finger nails out, only to see thin streaks of red drops coming for the cuts. Blood drained from my face and blackness started to cloud my vision. I quickly laid down on my bed feeling grateful for the first, and only, time for my dysmenorrhea and fear of blood. 

Except, I found an alternative. 

Withhold of orgasm, a similar concept to edging. I enjoyed the pain. It was like my excruciating period cramps, except I was in control and as soon as my muscles stopped spasming, I smiled wildly as the lightning cracked loudly overhead.

Orgasms were supposed to be a good thing, but how can I have anything good when everything pointed to me only getting the bad?

The storm outside, wasn't letting up and with my parents and brother still out, I walked to the bathroom and pulled out mum's box blonde hair dye.

'Well. If they wanna treat me like a blonde. They're gonna get a motherfucking blonde.'

I tended to the wounds first, washing and covering them up with band-aids. I pulled up a YouTube video and read the instructions, once confident, I started to prepare the dye.

'How hard can this be?' 

The smell of bleach filled the air as I started to lather on the bleach. 

'Goodbye McKenna, Kenz, Kenna, and Ken. You will be missed.

There was certainly no going back now. The dye was applied just as the YouTube video said.

My scalped tingled, which was apparently normal given the fact that I was putting a strong chemical onto my hair roots. 

There was nothing left for me now. I had nothing to lose. 

Why should I have pleasures? Why should I be allowed to live in a world where I am seen as worthless? 

‘Yes! Feed off my motherfucking anger!’ I screamed to the storm.

Hail pelted at the windows. The thunder continued to roar.

I laughed manically as I waited for the time to tick over half an hour.

It was time for them to see what they’ve done to me.