The Story You Don't Know

18 April 2016, Monday

I swear everyday they're testing my patience. As usual, first thing I heard upon stepping into class were their insults, sniggers, sarcastic comments. Then at lunch, Amelia had prawns for lunch.

They know I hate prawns. I never liked their segmented bodies, black beady eyes, insect-like legs. I never thought I would feel as averse to prawn as I did today. After she'd finished her food, she casually tossed some of the shells at me. I gave a loud shriek that drew more attention than I wanted.

"They're just prawns. Why are you so scared?" she laughed. But it wasn't just fear, it was disgust. She was playing with the remains of her food. I don't know why everyone was laughing at me and not her. Childish as this sounds, it's not fair.

I kept flinching whenever she raised a hand, and they'd all laugh so hard at that. I was frustrated, angry inside. A part of me wanted to wish something really bad upon her, and yet, I couldn't. I've always told myself to be nice to others, to not let the world make me cruel. You don't know how unbelievably hard that can be sometimes.

In the middle of history class, I left the class. Went to the building 3 toilets where I knew no one would go to look for me. It's a quieter part of school, where the labs were. I knew I wouldn't see anyone unless one of the other classes had a lab session.

I found myself sitting on the toilet bowl cover, trying to cry, but no tears came out. I wanted to vent out all these feelings I'd kept bottled inside, but I'd been hiding them too well, too long, and they just wouldn't. I felt somewhere between an empty void and a full dam of water.

And that was when it started. Scratching down the inner side of my right arm from my wrist to the inside of my elbow. The pain felt good. At least it wasn't an empty nothingness.

I scratched at myself again. I've always kept my fingernails short - can't play the piano with long nails. And yet, it was enough to leave red welts in my skin. As I touched the soft, swollen flesh, a dark thought flashed in my mind. What if I used something sharp instead - the edge of a ruler, the tip of a used ballpoint.. a razor or a penknife?

I was numb. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. From a surface scratch, to a deeper abrasion, I looked at the torn skin and felr nothing. Squeezed the edges of the cut, watched a drop of blood ooze out, and still felt nothing. Maybe it was too small.

And now, as I write this, my arm has been carefully band-aided and I've chosen to wear a long-sleeved pyjama set so no one will catch sight of the band aid, or the red welts from all my scratches earlier. I'm not telling anyone, not even Kalen.

This will be the last time. We're not going down this road. I don't want to spiral into another darker cycle than the one I'm already in. I won't let them hurt me again.

This will be the first, and the last cut.

-

Stop accepting your circ.u.mstances, he told me one night. Stand up for yourself. Playing passive like this, you become the prey. They may be predators, but you are the hunter.

I replayed his words in my head like a mantra. I thought of what they'd made me do to myself and a seething anger rose in my heart. I gritted my teeth as my left hand subconsciously brushed the small raised scar on my arm.

She was, without doubt, taller than me, bigger than me, probably stronger than me. At 5'1, I was easily almost the smallest in class. But now, I had something she didn't have - I had nothing more to lose. I felt like she had pushed me off, into the dark abyss, and I had finally fallen rock bottom. There was nowhere else to go.

It felt like I was backed into a wall, like a corner animal. I wasn't afraid of pain, I wasn't afraid to die if I could bring her down with me. If it came to that, I could probably try.

But I put my dark thoughts aside and focused instead of what I'd do today. I needed to expand my social circles - I knew I had to get out of my toxic circle of friends. To do that, I had to swallow my fear and distrust of people, and reach out.

So at lunch, I began scanning the school cafeteria for my first potential new friend. I impulsively picked a girl sitting alone at a small table on the side. Her hair was a mess of wild dark curls, tied up in a high ponytail, a few locks falling into her face as she hunched over some books. She looked busy, scrawling letters into an exercise book faster than I'd ever seen anyone write. The cafeteria food she'd just bought was steaming on the side, untouched. Was she busy? Would I be bothering her? No, I had to stop overthinking.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my mouth dry, as I approached her table with my packed lunchbox.

"Hey," I said shyly, feeling very much like a preschooler. "Can I sit with you for lunch today?"