My Little Friend

It was quiet at first. It was a little seed planted in my mind by the person I was living with at the time. I only felt little inklings of the pain it was capable of giving me, and my sadness and hopelessness was what watered it. Soon, it bloomed to a horrible flower of death, it's roots wrapping around my mind, sucking away my energy for it's new food.

I didn't tell anyone. I thought I'd get over it. But a year passed and I entered seventh grade and it was still there. When we were kicked out of our house, we moved in with my grandma, and under certain events my mom and her fiance ended up moving away to another city while I stayed with her. My little friend was silent. I finished seventh grade, which was where I made great friends. I even dated and thought I "found the one" at age thirteen. But near the end of summer, I was whisked away from my beloved grandma with no warning.

During August, I went to the hospital for thoughts of suicide and stayed there for six days. It was hell. My little voice was very active, constantly there. Some days I woke up to it telling me I was absolutely worthless, other days it was silent but it was still there.

It told me I was worthless, that no one cared, that I wasn't going to do anything with my life. Some nights, when I couldn't sleep despite taking my pills, I'd find myself in the bathroom. I'd be standing in front of the sink, staring at my face in the mirror. I looked like a zombie. My face looked like I was so much older than I actually was.

But, I've gotten away.

I'm with my grandma again, and we live in a hotel while she works at a pizza restaurant. Money is tight and school is going to be starting up again soon, and we're still waiting for my mom to finally get the guardianship papers and sign them so I'll be able to stay with my grandma until I'm eighteen. But I'm happy. My little voice has not murmured a word to me, even though I've long run out of my antidepressant pills.

It took six years. Six years of my little friend screaming at me and telling me lies, for me to realize that's all it was. A lie. The flower it's bloomed into is dying, and soon it'll turn to dust and I won't ever let another one of its seeds plant itself inside of me. Right now, I'm looking to the future. Sure, I'm still going to have nightmares. I'm still gonna have bad days. But that's okay, because that's what recovery is all about. It's about being tested again and again, being shoved down multiple times. When you keep getting up, it's when you've finally won. The finish line is in my line of sight. I just have to keep going a little bit harder.