Addiction

Dear, friends.


I have a burning urge to take a blade to my skin and feel the soft pinch of it dragging across and cutting it open. I have a painful want for a bottle of pills to be opened and taken all by me in one minute, leading to an overdose. I hold a aching in my bones for a rope to be hung from my ceiling for my selfish desire to cut off all air and to crack my neck. My dear friends who have walked here parched of happiness and peace, I am an addict. Im a single handed killer of all light around me dragging all who love and care about this rotting soul into a cave of unwanted fear that they will wake up and find their sweet child, a friend, gone. The life drained out and pulled from the one thing the hold on to. My friends, My dear friends who have never once spoken a word to the writer of the text of insane hurt and shame of the past, I am I child.

The 12 year old queer who can't hold a love life for more than a week has a feeling no one wants to hang out with him, who knew? They all knew that he had made a few jokes and gotten good grades, he was a good person from kindergarten to 2nd grade. A sweet rosy cheeked kid who had options for where they wanted to go in life. Everyone said 'Oh you can be a singer or artist, or maybe even a scientist!' and on and on of what he could be, never asking who he was already. Now that he is grown and has lost so much from the once rich life of hope and love he grasps the only thing left he can reach. A laptop. A mat black laptop he got the year of 6th grade when he had to leave public school and switch to private school because of all the lines drawn. A line in the sand may be what some hope he drew but without any doubt we all understand the lines he drew poured blood from his tired body in need of a kind of pain relief.

My dear friends he took that laptop and found a way to fix his actions. He found the way to a better life from rock bottom. His arms scared and soon cut fesh, his pills gone. Taken in an attempt to end it. And his life...over. He may have wrote a silly poem or a small story but what good does it do if his words reach no one. He has seen what a boy his age can do and he has read how well a child can change a life with a simple word. But why can't he? What difference is he making in this world. This cold world where the most of anything you can do is cut and cry out for help from another broken and beaten heart. What good does it do for him to say a little trama never hurt when his alcoholic parents scared him to the point of near death. How long can he stay put with a number of his broken pals until he calls it enough. Too long. Years too long.

When he was caught with a few scratches on his hand he was given a hug and told don't do it again. He swore on his life he wouldn't so his mother, who was drunk, would let him go back to his room. The next year he was once more telling friend s he wanted to end it, and even cut his wrist. This being proof enough his life meant nothing to himself. His family took him to the hospital and had him checked by a doctor, he felt belittled. He felt as if no one loved or cared to just let him be. They didn't want to listen when he said he was stressed out by the nurses coming and asking the same questions over and over. Now they had him on meds and in therapy.This is one way to make a mentally ill person feel a bit more outcasted and bad about who they were and what they did in a time of need. I wish we could just leave it all here and say he found love and a happy life. We all wish we could just say that and make it true.

Next year. The year of 6th grade 2019 he started middle school. He had lost all his friends the year before and went in on a fresh start with two new people. His only pal who stood by him was Allen. He would follow the other to the ends of the earth and vise versa. The two went on and meet Alice and Jenny. The four where close as ever when the first week of school was over, and the four queers along with other outcast and nerd friends faced the school together. But lessons got harder and preps got meaner leading him into a hard depression. None of his family knew when he had cut his sides for a bit of the feeling, the feeling of nothing going numb and staying so for the night. His friends at school knew and never really brought it up. Then he was called names and given dirty looks by every northside rich kid at school. The feeling of isolation and dread came over him as he walked the halls and one night he choose to do it. He choose to get the numb feeling at the most you could get it. His tan wrists began to collect cuts and turn them to scabs and scars. Every night he would feel hot tears burn his cheeks as crimson flowed from his veins to the tile floor of his room.

By now all of his friends knew and he didn't mind. They all had done it at some point and started to make it a normal thing to discuss. He even had a deal that if one of the group killed themselves they all would follow suit. Nights grew on and winter came to an end leaving a chilly spring. His arms now covers in the lines from the blade had to come out of hiding at some point. He had taken the hoodie he wore everyday off more and more at school to the point a prep passed him a note saying 'I know how it feels, but not on the arms you'll get caught.' He was known for the cuts and had been sent to the councillor twice before they saw them. Then in band he took off the hoodie and forgot it was sitting on the back of his chair when he raised his hand. The teacher saw.

The news was given to his parents and they saw the now forming cuts. He was given more medicine and extra therapy. His sibling Rori sobbed and asked him to not take his life and to never hurt himself again. Now that he was better the year kept on. He cried himself to sleep and got up going to the hell of a school everyday. Once in history he had to buddy up with a prep named Jackson. While they wrote a paper on WWII he didn't care to keep his jacket over his now scared arms, they had faded but the cuts were still visible. So Jackson asked, "Did you cut yourself?" witch was a clear yes. The next day Jackson came back with a blue jacket with the school logo on the front. He explained how he was 'depressed' his girlfriend left him so he 'cut' himself with a stick. He had a line on his arm that wasn't even a scratch making him laugh a bit at how both him and his now ex girlfriends best friend did this 'cutting' in the same way.

Now in homeschool he is still stressed and scared. He couldn't go back because when he walked down the hall every morning he was laughed at and called names. So with all the sadness and anxiety building back up he tried to end his life by taking some pills. He felt sick and told a few friends what he had done. He regretted it and fell asleep quickly. The next day he woke up. He was fine. His whole view changed slightly and he swore to himself that he would get his life together. And now he is trying to do better in the homeschool program and eat better so he will be the best boy he can be for his lover in the future. This 12 year old boy has a good skill in writing and wrote out his life for a bit of a fun thing to pass time. His hands move quick and fingers swiftly as his mind floods this page with words that have little meaning.

This boy can't change anyone's life if he thinks like a child. Now is the time he acts his age and becomes a true teen in a better way then he was planing at the end of 5th grade. He is happier. He is better. He is Brycen and he is proud to be a suicide survivor.