A Broken Concept

Chapter 1: Memories.

I remember it even now. The first thing I noticed was how much she changed. It was hard to miss. Her usually colorful clothes had all faded to black, her dark hair, now completely black. Her eyes, they used to be so pretty, I remember, from the few times I talked to her, had turned cold. She looked like a giant fake doll. No one knew what happened. What could have changed the ever beloved Kikyou so.

I couldn't figure it out. It was like all of a sudden, she was trying to copy me. I was the one who dressed in black, who wore black eye shadow every single day, be it Halloween or Christmas. I was the one who people went out of their way to avoid so they wouldn't be on the receiving end of yet another glare. Yeah, I knew I wasn't the nicest person, and I wasn't the happiest either, but that's why I couldn't figure out why she would copy me of all people. I was just another reject, who couldn't find enough friends to form my own clique as it was done in high school. She never talked to me though. I don't think she ever talked to any one. Her friends all ran off. I realized then, that maybe cheerleaders weren't as tight as they say they were. But I'll never know for sure, I didn't do the whole school spirit shit.

This happened in the beginning of grade 10, right after summer vacation; the school got the shock of their life. The head cheerleader had dropped out of the team, went from teachers pet to class rebel, despite the fact that she never talked. I was half expecting the school to burn down any day now, since you know, it was the end of the world and everything. Sadly enough, it stood straight and proud, no burn marks what so ever, just some graffiti scattered along the walls.

Our school was rather normal, yet we had a group for everyone but Goths, and because of that fact I contemplated dropping out a few times, but I never did. Everyone needs to talk once in a while, but I guess not every one can. I stayed in the school, and passed my classes except math. Summer school was a drag. Not only is half of your summer wasted, but its wasted in a building full of morons with no air conditioning. Needless to say, I wanted to die.

I'll admit, I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but what I did that summer was definitely, without a doubt the stupidest. In one of my moments of complete breakdowns, I decided to release all the annoying emotions that kept fighting for dominance inside my head. I found a razor. I marked myself a Goth, with perfect scars on my wrists. The next day was hell. I couldn't concentrate in school because my hands hurt, and the blood that went down the drain last night kept flashing in my head. I didn't get much sleep even though I felt dead. I got on the wrong bus and got to school late. The heat was horrible, but I had to wear a shirt with long sleeves and ended up barely conscious by the time I stumbled home thanks to dehydration. I never thought my summer could get any worse. But alas! It did. A few days after summer school ended, I went out with my friends to the movies, and ended up with a sleep over. By then, both my hands were covered with all sorts of spiky bracelets up to my elbows. I only realized that fact after it was time to change into night clothes and go to bed. I couldn't sleep, trying to hard to hide my scarred hands under the thin white blanket on top of me. I think I fell asleep for a few hours before the sunrise, and when I woke up my friends were already awake. I couldn't guess if they saw or not, but for the rest of the day they didn't say anything except ask why I wouldn't take my bracelets off. I think I sprouted some bullshit about sentimental value.

By the end of the day we ended up in a local park, eating ice cream and watching some guys try to flirt. It was rather sad. My head hurt so much, I thought I was going to die, I didn't say anything though. They would have asked why, and I didn't want to lie to them, despite us not being so close anymore. I wanted to tell the truth, to anybody, but I knew I couldn't. People don't understand you when you say you slit your wrists. They call the mental hospital and make sure you arrive there safely.

When we split up to go home, they promised to call and get together the next day. They never called. Only then did I realize the strange expression on my friends place and the whispering that went on when I was in the wash room. They knew. It's been four months. I haven't heard from them. They had a party. I wasn't invited. Life sucked.

To get my mind of my suicidal thoughts, I decided to try and do my community hours. I called my best friend and asked if I could go with her. She said sure, she'll tell me when and how to get there. A few days later, I was there. And I wanted to shoot my brains out when I realized where it was. I was officially working at Kids Help Phone. Bad luck was my new stalker.

After going there 3 times, I couldn't stand the strange looks everyone was sending me. I quit. My friend got pissed and wouldn't talk to me for a while. But its better now, she doesn't mention it much anymore. I don't think she ever forgave me for that though. Now people there think she had irresponsible friends. I seem to be letting everyone down lately. Before I went to school, I died my hair. Now it was not only black but blue as well. It matched my new contacts. I guess I unconsciously wanted to change who I was, or maybe this was some new version of an identity crisis.

School started. On the first day, I dressed worse then usual. Black flowing skirt with chains everywhere. It clashed but I didn't care. I didn't care about much back then. My hair was waist length by then, I could sit on it if I wasn't careful. It got stuck to everything. I even had a shredder accident once. Needless to say, it ended up broken.

I think people got even more freaked out with my appearance. I looked like death. Or so says my public of loyal fans. Well at least when they think I'm not listening. My friends boyfriend is an idiot. He told me once that this style didn't match me. According to Mr. Smart Ass, I was more of a girl next door type. He was in the hospital for a week. Doesn't talk to me much now.

Life was pretty dull, when it school actually started. My teachers sucked, my ex-friends are morons, and my best friend only had one class with me. I was in a bad mood for a long time.

I took drama this year, just to see, you know? Hey, maybe I'll be famous one day. I knew that was bullshit, but I was trying to do something with myself, you know? Besides sleeping through all of my classes. As I look back on it now, I don't know if that was the best thing I ever did or my biggest mistake.

He was there too. I thought he was going to transfer, like he said last year. That why surprise flickered across my face when he walked in my drama class, looking just as he did last year. I don't know why he didn't transfer, he always said he was unhappy here, and would transfer soon enough. I never saw him in summer school and assumed that he had, indeed, transferred.

I tried to ignore his glances through out the class, but somehow found myself looking back at him once in a while, hoping he wouldn't see. He caught me, and it was strange. I was acting like I actually cared. I was the one who people avoided, and I was completely not myself.

I wasn't a full out Goth, and yes, I did have feelings even though I tried to hide them as much as I could. I did dress in black, but that was only because I hated colours. I liked red though, but it wasn't my colour. Not with my blue hair anyway.

He never talked to me, just glanced at me, as though to see if I was still there. I found myself glancing back sometimes, wanting to see he was there as well. Not that I would ever admit to it.

Life seemed okay for a while, it didn't have any surprises and I was getting used to eating lunch with my only friend. She was nice, I guess, I trusted her with most things. I even told her I slit my wrists, and she promised not to tell as long as I didn't do it again. She asked to see my scars but I refused till she stopped asking. I couldn't show them, I have no idea why.

I felt strange lately, just when my life seemed normal, I seemed to drop lower into my stage of 'Life sucks'. My parents didn't notice, but took me to the doctor anyway. Some sort of check up. Turns out I had depression. Two kinds actually. Bi-polar and anti-social. That explained a lot. My friend wasn't that surprised. I guess she sort of knew, but didn't want to mention it.

I suppose my parents expected me to be surprised when I found out, they certainly were. They scared the poor doctor, threatening lawsuits that he would accuse me of anything like that. I guess they later realized he was right and made me go back. I think it got worse with the time it took them to get over it. I could no longer sleep and nightmares were all I could remember. It went to the point of me sleeping with the light on or just not sleeping at all. They got worried.

I was put on sleeping pills, though it didn't do much for the nightmares, I could now sleep through the night, and sometimes my alarm clock as well. Though for the rest of the day I felt dead to the world. I no longer noticed him, or understood what the teachers kept droning on and on in class. Detention hall was my second home. And let me tell you, I wanted a new one.

My friend was still with me, and I felt closer to her then I ever did to my parents. Strangely enough, she was nothing like me. She wasn't a Goth or a punk; she wore colours and laughed more then anyone I knew. It was strangely comforting; knowing that even at my worst, there was still someone who wasn't completely repulsed by how much I screwed up. Take notice that I was only 15. I had quiet some time left, and god knows I'll manage to screw up even more. Yet she stayed by me.

I tried to fix myself. I really did, even though by then, slitting my wrists was a habit. I stopped, surprising myself. I never felt more proud of anything. My parents brought me to the doctor again. I was actually happy, because I could prove to him that I'm not that bad of a screw up.

He made me take a few tests. He said just in case. I didn't really mind. A week later I was called back to have a little chat. After dodging the subject for nearly half an hour, he finally told me.

I was going to die.

I didn't believe him at first. He was young after all, something could have been mixed up. I didn't want to hear anything else. My parents were freaked out. It was something strange they said. I had an infection in my blood. From an open wound. They didn't know how such thing was possible. But I knew then.

I had my share of breakdowns. Once even in a public washroom on a school trip. I ran in and closed the door, my eyes watered and black tears ran down my cheeks. It was the dirtiest washroom I've ever been to, but I didn't care. I went to the paper towel dispenser and putting my wrist on the cutting line, pressed hard. Blood seeped out, down my arm, onto my black clothes, on the floor. I couldn't stand, feeling dizzy, I collapsed on the floor. Dirt and water was everywhere, but I couldn't get up. The dirty water burned my skin, and blood mixed with it. After I few minutes I forced myself to go to the door, and collapsed onto my friend as soon as it was open.

It was a while ago, before I ever though about trying to stop screwing my life over.

And now that I look back on that, I can't help but think how stupid I was. I don't remember ever crying so hard.

And yet it was ironic. For a person who thought of suicide nearly every hour of their life, I was strangely scared. Wasn't this what I wanted? This was my way out of hell, out of the whispers, the glares, the insults. Wouldn't this be better? No one could call me a coward. I didn't kill myself. Not really.

But then I realized, that no, I didn't want this. I didn't want to die. I was only 15. I have not been to a dance before; I have not kissed or fallen in love. I was still a child, hiding in the body of a teenager angry at the world. I was just avoiding the hurt that would come. And suddenly, I was so scared I was shaking. I couldn't stand, collapsing on the floor by my bed and sobbing into the red comforter hanging limply of my bed.

I still wanted to live. It was all I could think of. I wanted my life back, but it seemed that was the one thing I could not have.

Ever since that day, I have cried my self to sleep every night. In school I was the same person as before. I still laughed sometimes, and slept through classes. I never told any one. Not even my best friend.

It seems I was finally being punished for all of my mistakes. No one knew of a cure for what I have done to myself. I would die. They didn't know when. And that was worst of all. All I could do was wait.

And as I looked around at everyone, I couldn't help but think, would any one miss me?

I think it was at that time that I started noticing him again. I don't know why, but he looked at me differently. Like he knew something everyone else didn't. I tried to ignore it, and I was doing so well. After all, I didn't need to get attached to anyone, especially not now.

He saw something in me, he later said, I suppose that was the reason why he finally talked to me.