Just a one-shot. Review?
I am used to the stares. To the pointing and laughter; It has simply become the norm for me. As I sit at lunch, alone, I chew on my grapes and wonder. I wonder what life would be like if I tried to talk to others, or if others had tried to talk to me. I wouldn't, though. They wouldn't. I am simply alone, but it doesn't bother me. It has become part of the day now.
In science class, I am always the only one working alone. I am the oddball. The one everyone has something to say about, even though no one knows anything about me, mostly because no one cares enough. That's okay though, the stares are just another part of the day.
I say to myself that I don't mind, and in truth I don't, but the 'what ifs' are the only things that crawl into my mind during the day, and when I am lying down to sleep. What if I grew my hair our and dyed it blonde? What if I could simply press a button and restart high school. Make something of myself. Of course that was plain nonsense. The 'what ifs' may haunt me, but I am used to it. They are simply another part of the day.
I hear Mom crying sometimes. It has been getting worse ever since she lost her job, the same one she had been working at for decades. I am used to it now. Seeing the cuts my Mom has put on her arms and legs and torso, hearing her cry for my Dad who has passed and for God to just end her misery, because she is done with this life has just become another part of the day.
Being teased doesn't bother me. I simply nod as if to agree with them, and be on my way. They mock my skin tone and choice of clothing, even my hair. But of course I wave it off and in my mind as I sit at my desk in math class; I pretend they were giving me a compliment. It is just another part of the day.
I follow in my Mothers footsteps. Cry into a pillow so the sound will be muffled, cut myself in the bath tub while I pretend I am showering. I am sure not to cut on my arms. It's just another thing that my classmates joke about and my teachers worry about. I cut as deeply as I can manage on my thigh, the pain that come next sends chills through my body as I cut into my skin for the second time. It is just part of the day.
As I snort the drugs, or shoot them up my arm, I dream of things. I dream that I am on a cloud, or on a boat. Even next to the same girls who tug my hair and kick my shins and laugh at me, occasionally pushing me down so they can spit on me. They compliment me and kiss my feet, and for once I am happy. For once I have nothing to worry. The drugs fade, and I am back in reality. I load up another shot or get another line ready to snort, my heart beating quickly. Deep down inside, but truthfully not to deep down, I hope that this is the last shot. I will overdose. I will die. But of course I don't. I fall asleep, feeling dead rather than being dead, and dream of a life that is not mine. But I am okay with it. I am used to it. It is just another part of the day.
