13 Deaths

Cut

-CUT-

 Curled on the floor I was sitting in the remains of what was my mirror. It saw so many things, but I never accepted the reflection in it- what is purpose to look at it then? I freaked out and knocked it down, breaking it up and hurt my arm. Sadly I went down and sat on the floor next to all those glittering pieces of glass, not worrying if some of them would cut me. My whole life passed in front of my eyes.

 "Eat, kid, everything from the plate must be eaten!" "Here's a loaf of bread, you can put it into the soup to eat more easily." "Eat a little more" ... it was the beginning. I was always chubby, but since the early days I was predestined for more. Much more. Chubby children are cute to the others, but I see their cruel future full of mockery and degradation. What's a pity my parents didn't see that too.

 This sweet phase lasted until the beginning of the school- then the aforementioned mockery and degradation began. Then I was no longer cute- I was a fat child. Even since that one-digit number of years there was this feeling of shame in me, the need to become something that the others would prefer, but this was not possible. I just stepped into a two-digit number and I already started behaving like a older girl - I took weight loss pills, even though I was too young, hoping it would help me get rid of my pounds. There were also teas, nothing more effective than pills, as well as some other things. While eating my soup full of bread I wondered what I was doing wrong and how to change it.

 Before every medical exam I was scared- what if I had to stay in a sleeveless shirt or something worse? I don't want them to see what I look like, I'm too disgusting and they would laugh at my ugliness. For the same reason I didn't wear shorts or t-shirts at P.E. , I didn't wear such things in public anyway. I don't want to traumatize people who see me.

 Because of that I had too many problems, the more they shouted more I was withdrawn, I didn't even want to take off my coat, I felt so safe in it. The P.E. classes broke every bit of confidence that I had, I felt so humiliated after them. They would laugh whatever I do- when I ran, dozens of gazes would be turned into me, followed by a laugh that paralyzed me, not better situation with exercises and sports neither. This degrading position spread to everything else- they would have underestimated me, avoided me, mocked me. I was waiting for the day when I would show them all, but it would never come.

 I would feel so safe when I would put on more clothes, which brought me new problems and new mockery. For God's sake, what is wrong with these people, what do they want from me? Why are they laughing at me because of my clothes? Why is that bothering them now too? I'm really starting to hate myself.

 In the high school I felt good enough for the first time in my life, I even lost some weight because of the long walks from the school, but it couldn't have lasted long enough - that feeling of worthlessness returned again. I remember the summer after the first year of highschool by extremely restrictive diet where I for a few days had only some juice of maple syrup, which, of course, didn't work in the long run. In the second year I changed my diet, while I was still changed by fate. It was a matter of time when something bad would happen in my organism.

 One night I turned on the TV and saw a show in which the main heroine suffered from anorexia. Something broke in my brain. It was the beginning of the worst feeling ever. The first few days at the minimum of food wasn't so hard, I felt bad and before that. By returning to school I returned to 1500 calories, then reduced to 1000, then 900,800,700 ... the number went down in the two or three months, until it reached 50. For these who don't know it's three sips of yogurt with three percents of milk fat. The three sips were supposed to cover four kilometers of walking, seven hours spent in school, energy for learning, sleeping, breathing. It is unbelievable that I managed to get out without bigger problems. It gave me a false self-confidence below which was even greater dissatisfaction and obsession with what I am becoming. Still, it seemed to me as if for the first time in my life I was doing something right, as if I was looking at all who insulted me and said, "Who is laughing now, huh?" Not me. I no longer wanted to laugh, but to self-destruct.

 No matter how satisfied I was that I am no longer the one to be mistreated, the roots dragged me into exaggeration bringing me bulimia, fortunately not long, but long enough to let the smallest dose of self-confidence disappear. I became a failure that couldn't do anything right.

 Everywhere around me walk beautiful girls and women, shaped like female beings, and then I look at my body and I realize that I will never look like that. I will always be a apple shaped,with a wide body frame, a low growth. They all say that we should accept ourselves as we are, but I am not sure that I will ever be able to do that- the roots of the past keep me and remind me of the laugh and underestimation. Every time I see something nice on my body, I realize that this is nothing special and that I am worthless. It's not only the way I look, I don't have anymore faith in my qualities neither, I don't believe that I have any qualities at all. I'm protected by blackness that should hide my feelings and me as a person, they will never understand me. I know that, otherwise people wouldn't, behind my back, say that I am crazy. I see a shame in the eyes of my parents, it breaks me more than anything. I am sorry to bring them into this situation, I wish I don't exist and that they have a normal kid. I don't deserve to talk to people,I have nothing smart to say. I don't deserve to write, everything I write is worthless. I don't deserve to wish, I am not worth the wishes. I don't deserve to live, this planet doesn't need me. I deserve only a death, I will get it anyway .

 I'm standing in front of the mirror. It's funny how something trivial like a weight can make you so suspicious of yourself to make you want to disappear. That pale face of the totally poor facial features should be me. This creature whose half of hair which she barely saved after anorexia felt off for the less than two weeks, . This bloody ugly creature, who still carry her pounds although she takes care of her diet. That's me, right? I won't be anymore.

 I closed my hand in the fist and broke the mirror, ending up with an injured hand. Sitting in that pile of glass I took up a piece and made a vertical cut on my arm. There was no difference in the first time, and then blood appeared... It ran like never before. It's good,my body agrees with me for the first time, it also thinks it's time to get out of here. I felt a dizziness and my heart started to beat harder, but it didn't stop me from cutting deeper. When I reached nerves I squeezed my teeth again and, with the painful moan, I watched how blood spurted from my wrist ... I hit the artery. No one can save me, I'm dying in a few minutes.

 Behind my procession could be heard people's dialogues about my diligence, kindness and similar nonsenses, most of them coming out from the mouths of people who called me crazy until then. The ones that made me feel even worse probably will never even hear my story, they'll probably chase the stars , leaving me in the dust where they think my place is. Maybe in some other life I will be worth living, hopefully they won't ruin that one too, until then I will collect my pieces of broken mirror in the dust ....