Tina surrounded herself in the dark. But what she longed for more than anything was the light. She longed to join her classmates who walked down the halls laughing.
To hide her anxiety, she covered herself in a shroud of indifference. She distanced herself from those who ignored her so they would know that she didn't want to be with them any more than they wanted to be with her. But that couldn't be any further from the truth.
Tina was shy. Cripplingly so.
At home, Tina pretended for her parents. She played the part of the perfect daughter. She smiled at them, thanked them, told them about how high school was hard, but fun. Told them all about her friends. But don't worry, she assured them. Friends and socializing aren't getting in the way of my grades.
Her parents never doubted that. Because Tina's grades were excellent. How could they not be when all she did was study because she had no friends?
Other than the dark costumey clothes that her parents only tolerated, Tina hid behind her voice. She wanted to be heard. She wanted to sing. But when she opened her mouth, she was petrified. Of all the judging eyes boring into her. Of what the others must think, of what they would say when she said the wrong thing. Not if, when.
So she stuttered. It wasn't on purpose, originally. She'd stumbled over a passage that a teacher had asked her to read aloud. No one could remember her talking before, so when that happened they all assumed she had a stutter. It made things easier. Teachers didn't call on her as frequently because they assumed that she was ashamed of her stutter. And anyway, she excelled at all of their classes.
She tried to push people away so that she could claim responsibility for the fact that she had no friends. She didn't want to have to admit that they didn't like her. She wanted control.
Tina often found herself creating dialogues in her head. Of conversations she might have with a friend about the homework that they'd been assigned in English. Or math. Or perhaps, a scenario in which she outshone everyone around her, and no one looked at her with those judgmental eyes. Because in her head, Tina was in control. She grasped onto these dialogues as lifelines. They were the only thing that made each and every day bearable.
But dialogues weren't enough. She wanted someone to actually notice her.
Again and again, Tina walked down the halls, hoping that someone's eyes would alight on her and then smile. But all the recognition she received was a slushie to the face. Because she was different. And alone.
Tina wasn't depressed. But she was desperate. And so stiflingly sad. Gloomy. But never depressed. She never thought of death as a better option. For as much as she hated her life here, she was more afraid of the possibility of nothing.
Nothing, empty, alone. Those thoughts haunted Tina's dreams each and every night.
Tina saw the characters on TV. The ones who were depressed. They cut their wrists, and someone noticed. It seemed that cutting led to love. Acceptance.
But Tina was too scared to cut her wrists. She was afraid of the pain.
And then one day it was too much. Tina had spent her lunch alone. She had been slushied. Forced to talk in class, Tina had stuttered and answered a question wrong. All her classmates must have seen what a loser she really was.
She ran home, and in a desperate frenzy, she ran to the bathroom closet. She located the bag of single bladed razors, for once thankful for her mother's cheapness. Running to the basement, Tina located her father's hammer and slammed it down on the razor. It broke into two pieces, but that was not enough. She found a blade and, still blinded by her desperation, she began hacking away at the plastic that surrounded the small, sharp razor blade until it was mostly exposed. Calmly, Tina replaced the tools. She ripped off a strip of black electrical tape and wrapped it around the rough plastic. She ran back to her bathroom.
Tina locked the door and sat on the closed toilet seat. She took a deep breath, and pulled down the waistband of her skirt. She stared at the pale exposed skin. She took the razor and, pushing down ever so slightly, she ran it along the side of her hip, exactly where her underwear waistband would cover it.
It was a shallow cut that at first appeared invisible. Then, slowly, pinpricks of blood began to appear. It was a brighter shade of red than Tina had initially imagined.
There was no pain, not at first. Later, it would come. As the razor bore deeper into her skin. But for now, it was as if a cold shiver had run across her skin, nothing more.
Placidly, Tina ran her fingers over the small cut. She saw the blood stain her finger tips red. She grabbed some toilet paper, stuffed it under the waistband of her underwear, and pulled up her skirt. She turned to the sink and washed her hands.
Tina knew that she could stop at any time. She wasn't like one of those desperate girls on the television. She had control over her life. This was a choice she had made after a lot of logical thought. Anyway, it wasn't like she was suicidal. She was simply cutting her hip. It wasn't going to escalate into anything more.
Tina knew that she could stop at any time; she just didn't want to.
And it's not true what everyone says. The first cut is not the deepest. It took many weeks for Tina to really dig the razor in. The first few cuts didn't even leave any scars, not until Tina decided that she had to start reopening her old wounds because there just wasn't enough room. The area beneath the waistband of a pair of underwear is just not that big.
And still no one noticed.
Now, the dialogues in Tina's head no longer consist of smiling friends, but a tragic situation in which Tina tearfully reveals to her friends that she has been cutting. A group surrounds her, engulfs her in a hug. The don't realize how minor this is. They don't know that Tina isn't actually depressed. They just think that she is suicidal and that they need to shower her with their love. Make her realize that life is actually worth living. Let her know that they want her there.
But these friends only exist inside Tina's head.