I've never been the type of girl to be affected by useless things. Popularity statuses, failing a test, who's dating who, all those other high school problems just weren't for me. See, it always came across as thought I believed myself better than everyone, but that wasn't necessarily the case. I just viewed myself as different. I was so against the idea of being like a typical teenage girl that I pretended the typical teenage girl things I went through weren't really happening. I would never admit that I liked Freddie because all the other girls liked Freddie. I would never tell anybody how much I cried the day Freddie broke up with me, or how hurt I was, or how much I wanted to die, because in the grand scheme of things, why would anyone be so hurt over a little high school break up? I mean, jeez, there are so many worse things in the world I could go through. My sister could die, I could be raped, I could develop schizophrenia, I could even become a dentist. The point is, things like that were real problems. And so yes, I fell in love, I took a shot and I was dumped. Boo freakin hoo.
The problem with that is, the more you pretend something isn't happening, the less you realize it, and the less you are able to stop it. When Freddie and I broke up, I pretended I wasn't hurt. When Freddie fell back in love with Carly, I pretended I was okay with it. When I became insecure, I pretended to be confident. When the pain got so unbearable I couldn't take it, I pretended it was nothing. When the only way I could deal with it was ripping apart my own skin, I pretended it was a normal thing. When I became unable to eat anything because I wanted to be skinny and perfect enough for Freddie, I told myself it was just an average diet. It wasn't until I was hanging over a tear stained suicide letter that I realized something was wrong.
I am Sam Puckett, and this is the story of the aftermath.