Let me tell you a little story about a girl who lost herself. She was young, not even reaching teenage land; she fought for what she believed in and in turn got ridiculed about everything. This is she; no one wanted her to be the way that she was. Her home was reaching the verge of breaking up and watching with her hazel eyes didn’t make it any better. This is her story. She fought, and lost many battles in her short amount of time. Having a sister with a reputation of craziness didn't exactly help with anything. Her blond hair always covered her eyes, she didn't want to see anything past them, and she just wanted to know that the world could disappear.


Soon, no one could change her mind; she was spiraling down farther than anyone her friends had seen. She was broken, lost, and confused of who she was and where she was standing in the mist of all the students. No one even knew she was, not even her, and people started seeing her as the girl who never wanted to talk, who always kept her face in a book--- the girl who was counting down her days to get out of the hole. The girl who was finally broken, nothing seemed to make her feel right. Drugs and alcohol consumption was only just a pastime, the endless hours of book reading sealed shut with the girl who wanted to lay around and sleep. To dream of a better world, one full of all the things that she used to love.


Her grades slipped, friends took a notice to her arms. Suddenly there were wounds there, powerful, strong, deep-rooted wounds that were just a cry for help. No one believed her when she said she was fine, and no one wanted to even see her. Her friends betrayed her in her own eyes, but in theirs they believed that they were helping. But that's one thing that she didn't ask for--Help. It was foreign to her, the word and action never came up anymore in any conversation that she had. She did not take the help, and so she was falling further and further, no one was sure exactly what was going on. All they knew was that she tried to get out of her house as much as possible, only to know that the short weekends weren't enough for someone to enjoy. Peace and serenity never came, and she knew that, only the doubt didn't last long she found something to believe in again.


Music was a simple word to most, but to her it was a lot. It meant everything to her, finally, something that she wanted to continue to learn, something that held true words to past experiences bringing them into a different light. She felt better afterwards, only listening to music that reflected how she was feeling whether it was love songs, or songs that made her parents (finally) worry about what was going on in her head. She noticed her putting down the alcohol, the blunt, and even the sharp razor blade (or sometimes a knife) she saw herself changing again. Only this time it didn't last, she would always end up the same place every time. Friends tried and tried again, and she always felt like a burden to them, sometimes even wishing on a shooting star that they had never met. No one knew exactly what she was going through, and years later she found out what it was that was keeping herself down, and that was her.


And she is me.