Leave A Light On

    *Zoey’s Note* Hey guys! So for this week’s Reedsy, I’m going to be discussing a topic that may be a little bit darker for most of you: depression. I’ve been coping with serious mental illnesses like depression, anxiety, social anxiety, and trauma since fourth grade, and I feel like I just need to spread awareness. This story is meant to help others who feel like they have nothing to live for and no one to turn to to assure them that they are not alone; no one is. At least one person is experiencing something similar to what you’re going through. Things do get better if you let them, it just might take a while for you to find the light. If you have any dark or intrusive thoughts, I am here to talk. If it gets out of hand, though, I would consider calling the Suicide Prevention Hotline (800-273-8255), and I promise you they will do their best to help. Now, I’ve never really written about my personal experiences with touchy topics like this, so I don’t know if it will be good, but I hope it is. I am not promoting anything that the character does at the beginning of the story. In fact, I am trying to prevent it. Make sure to read through the Trigger Warnings at the beginning; I do not want to trigger anyone’s personal traumas or phobias. Let me know what you all think! Remember that I love you guys, and I’m always here to talk. Enjoy, and don’t forget to give feedback!

     TW: SELF HARM, EATING DISORDER, MENTAL ILLNESS

      I couldn’t believe how hideous she was.

     Her forehead was far too long, her dry skin was too pale, and her eyes were too close together.

     Her lips were split and chapped, and her ugly strings of brown hair were dry and damaged. 

     She wore heavy, thick layers of makeup, but that would never cover up all of her blemishes. When a person is this hard to look at, they can’t do anything to hide it. At least, in her case.

     She had become so unnaturally thin that she looked like a skeleton. All skin and bones, as people would call her. This is why she had started to wear hoodies so frequently. 

     Her only pleasant features were those eyes, yet they had dense purple bags beneath them. This made that rare beauty in them appear deceiving. 

     As I stared deeper into those lying green eyes, the girl quivered her lips, tears squeezing out of the corners. She had begun to cry. Oh, how ugly she looked when she cried. I hated the girl in the mirror more than I’d ever hated anything.

      I lean further against the mirror in disbelief and hatred, the tears continuing to stream down my hollow cheeks. I wished I could look more beautiful, like the girls on the cover of Vogue. They were always so unparallelled with their soft skin, moist lips, and silky hair. 

      I wished I didn’t have to live in the past anymore. I wanted to forget about all the pain that I’d been causing my family and friends, with my constant nagging and bad jokes. People would always laugh at my jokes, but I had always told myself that this was because they had become too pitiful of me. 

      I wished I were more likeable. I try to make a lot of friends at school, but whenever I talk to new people, I start shaking like static and I stop in my tracks.

What if they don’t like me?

They might be fake.

They’re judging you right now.

They’ve heard the rumors that people will make of you.

Even if you make friends with them, one day you might drift apart.

     I wished I could just disappear. That I wasn’t me anymore. That I wasn’t alive anymore. I wished I didn’t overthink so much.

      I sulked in my tears, drowning in the darkness festering from within me. I wished my emotions would fade into nothingness, like the emptiness I felt with every bullet to the heart. I wanted to be more than just a little white fleck in the universe.

      I gripped even tighter onto the silver blade in my hand, considering whether or not I wanted to use it against my own skin once again. My wrists are still covered in scars from that very blade - mistakes that I wish I could take back. The feeling is like a drug-I know how wrong it is, but it’s oh, so addicting. I wished the pain didn’t feel so good on my sensitive, fair skin. But once you use the blade once, there’s no turning back; it becomes irresistible. You hunger for that same pain against your fragile, thick veins every night.

I stared at the bloodied knife blankly. That was the night I wanted to end it all.

      I’m just a moment away from bringing everything I’ve ever known to an end, before pausing suddenly.

      What if I actually mean something to someone? How many people would I hurt if I just disappeared into nothing? 

      What would my mother do if she found my cold, bloated body lying stiff and lifeless on the bathroom floor? I know that she would never be the same, so why do I keep trying to leave so soon?  

      I dropped the knife onto the ground hard, the noise of the silver blade clattering across the stone cold floor.

      I stare deeper into the sea-green eyes of that girl that I once cared for so dearly, and now I see nothing. 

      I collapse to the ground in an eternity of tears, wishing desperately that someone could pull me out of this train wreck, yet no one comes. 

      I am alone, I remind myself, I always have been.

      With that, I pick up the blade of death, setting it carefully on the counter. I sigh helplessly.  

      I guess I’ll just have to get used to this emptiness. 

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    Like a predator unto it’s faraway prey, I stared ravenously at the piece of bread lying on my tray. 

      I knew that I needed to eat something, and I wanted to. Hunger penetrated my body worse than death by a thousand needles to the heart- but I couldn’t allow myself to gain weight. I had always been fairly picky with my body; if I can’t see my bones, I am too fat. If I do see them, I am too slim.

I may be too skinny right now, but looking like a skeleton is alright; people seemed to like me better when I weighed less than nothing. 

       I laughed along with the girl next to me - the one I’ve known since childhood - as if nothing were wrong. 

      As if I were happy.

      As I spoke, I noticed the faces of the girls that I wished I were. The ones with the tanned, doll-like faces and perfect bodies. The ones with the shiny, picture-perfect grins. The kind, funny, likable girls that always go to the mall and hang out with boys after school.

I wished I could be a part of their group.

I wished I were that perfect.

I wished I were them. 

     I carried on, chatting with the people sitting at my table, and tried my best to stifle the aroma of warm, fresh, chocolate chip cookies and newly baked bread. 

     I hoped that these people still care about me like I thought they did when I was an innocent, carefree child. I hoped I genuinely made them smile, and that I could make their days better. I really hoped that they did not just pity me.

     But alas; maybe that is the case.

       I chew my nails down to their beds as I stand in line, waiting to get my school pictures over with. I wear so much makeup that I do not look like myself, but I still do not look good. I just hope to forget about this day.

       I stare at the beautiful, tanned, blue eyed blonde in front of me. She’s always been the one I envied most with her icy blue eyes and her perfect hourglass figure. As I glare at her unspeakable beauty, however, I notice something that I’d never noticed before.

       On each of her wrists, I spot a number of long white lines, no doubt battle scars from a blade. I glance at my own battle wounds from beneath the protection of my hoodie. 

        I don’t understand. Why would she have them? What does she have to be insecure of? She’s perfect!

        She’s way funnier than me, prettier than me, kinder than me, and has a big group of friends that adore her. Everyone loves her, and she’s way out of anyone’s league. How could she not know that?

       Chewing on my lip, I call her name. She turns around with a seemingly bright, happy smile. It must’ve taken years to appear so very content. 

       “You look beautiful,” I tell her, more genuinely than I’ve said anything in years, “you always have.”

       “Aw, thank you,” she beams, smiling even brighter, “you’re so sweet! Well, you look beautiful too, and I’ve always thought you were very pretty, luv.”

       It felt strange to have a goddess like herself calling a rat like me beautiful, but it felt good. No one ever even tells me I’m pretty. They just stare. 

      “Thank you,” I reply softly, a smile printed across my lips. 

       I stand in that line and ponder for a second. 

        How many people have wished they were me? 

        How many times has someone’s mother told their daughter that they should be more like me? 

        Has someone I found amazing ever been compared to me?

        Have my friends ever defended me when I wasn’t there?

        Has a guy ever considered asking for my number?

        These are things that I guess I’ll never know. I should view them as signs that I belong in this world; signs that I'm still alive. That I need to give it my best and just stay that way.

        I may not like it, but I need to leave a light on when I’ve lost my way in the depths of the darkness. I will survive; I am a warrior at heart with a fire burning in my soul. 

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        It’s been three years since I stood behind the blonde girl in that line, and I feel that I have definitely left a light on since then. 

       Now that my emotions have matured, I realize how I had just a little chunk of hope in me that I would make it out of the darkness alive. 

        I am happier than ever, though it is not because that blondy called me beautiful.

         It is not because I came to realize that people might actually like me. 

         And it is definitely not because of all of the friends I have gained since then.

         I feel the most joy and comfort in knowing that I’ve found myself; I feel happiness knowing that I have gained this much confidence.

          I smile at the girl in the mirror grinning back at me. She may not look perfect, but she is as perfect as I want her to be. That is all that matters.

          Reader, I know that you may be struggling with something; for that I am sorry. 

          But I am here to inform you that things do get better! You just have to allow yourself to turn on that light within.

         Someone in this world loves you very much, and they would be heartbroken if you ended your life over something temporary. I have come to realize that there are many people who love and care about me.

            You are not alone; no one is alone. We will fight this fight together until we win the war. Until this happens, keep fighting! I believe in you! I will always be the one cheering you on.

             Never forget these things.

          Hey everyone! I hope you all enjoyed my story:) I don’t know how many of you noticed but I added a lot of semicolons in this story to represent life. You could choose to end your sentence now, but you chose not to; your story is not over yet. Be sure to comment down below things that I should work on, whether or not you liked the story, let out your inner critic etc. I love you all and really hope this story was alright:)