Please Don't Stand So Close To Me, I'm Having Trouble Breathing

Warning ; This is very long, and very depressing. Feel free to just mosey on along to something less dramatic and terribly written.

At my school, we do this thing called Challenge Day. If you've done it, or know someone who has, you know that it's an emotional roller coaster; laughing one minute and crying the next. When the big group split up into what they called "family groups" - which were just small groups of five to six we went back to consistently - we did this thing they called "dropping the water line". It basically referred to what they called the ice berg that was us. Most people know that only about 10% of the ice berg is actually visible, with 90% being hidden under the water. The Challenge Day leaders aid that's what each and every one of us was like; showing the world what they wanted to see and hiding 90% of who we really are. So they "challenged" us to drop our water lines. One of the ways they did that was by getting us to talk about ourselves, starting with "If you really knew me..." and then filling in the blank. That's what I'm going to do now, because I am freaking out and all I want to do is scream. I have to get the words out somehow, and I'm hoping by starting with something generic, that will be easier. So if this is just a jumbled mess of nothing, I apologize.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I have been emotionally abused by my father for the past seven years. You'd know that I'm never going to be good enough for him, and I've lost all respect for my parents. You'd know that every single one of his sentences follows this pattern: "You did well, Sera, but..."

If you really knew me, you'd know that I've cut for the past three years, and even though I've tried to stop, I always go back to it. I have uncounted numbers of thick, white lines on my upper arm, and now they're popping up on my ankles, and above my knees. I can't seem to stop myself from going for the metal, especially when I'm here, in his house. I can't stop.

If you really knew me, you'd know that my father is only of those people who believe homosexuality, or anything other than the male-female relationship, is a choice, and whoever chooses to step outside this mold is choosing wrong. You'd know that I'm afraid to tell him I may be a lesbian, but at the same time I'd be proud, because he'd never want to see me again and if I never had to come back here, it would be too soon.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I'm terrified of ending up alone, but I can't trust anyone. You'd know that each and every relationship I've been in has ended in disaster, and that everyone I've ever loved has rejected me, or I've pushed them away. I can't just love someone, because I don't know how to love. I don't know how to be happy.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I want children more than anything else in the world. But you'd also know that I don't want to bring a child, a part of myself, into the world, knowing that it will likely inherit the mental diseases that plague my family. Depression, anxiety, and anger are only the tip of the ice berg, and I don't want my baby to have to go through that. I want my child to grow up never having to wonder if his or her mother will be angry, or depressed, or if Grandpa is going to visit, and there will be more screaming. I refuse to raise another generation filled with suffering and pain.

If you really knew me, you still wouldn't know how close I was to killing myself just last week. I told no one, no one but my search engine. Only google knew that I was searching up what could mix with my anxiety medication to make it so I could go to sleep and never wake up. Only my pillow knew that I cried myself to sleep every night. Only my knife understood me when it sang across my skin, and only that pretty red line could express what I was feeling inside.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I almost go pregnant on my first time. I didn't want to have sex with him. I didn't want it, and I told him that, but it happened anyway. I didn't say yes, but I didn't say no. My body wanted it, but my mind did not. The sound; I've never told anyone this. But the sound of the condom breaking still echos in my mind. I knew what had happened, but I didn't know. I didn't understand. I heard the sound, but I didn't say anything. And then his voice; "Oh my god. Oh god. The condom broke. Oh my god." Panic set in. He started to chain smoke, I sank to the floor and grabbed his rum and coke to calm my nerves. I paced. I didn't cry. Couldn't. There were no words. He apologized. I shook my head. Craved my knife, and told him so. He yelled at me. I sat and took it. He smoked some more, and I drew pictures of eyes. Gorgeous eyes, with long lashes. I went home, and bled.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I've been in love with both of my best friends for years. A boy and a girl. One I dated on and off, the other I had to watch dated guys who used and abused her. I had to watch the guy be in love with my other best friend, who only used him, and I had to watch the girl get her heart broken over and over. I let myself be used by both of them, in different ways. Never sexual, because the girl "doesn't do best friends" and the guy never saw me that way, although he faked it when he was lonely. But emotional abuse hurts just as badly. I would know.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I was kicked out of my house last week. You'd know that my father threatened to call the cops and have me forcibly removed if I didn't leave his property. You'd also know that I live on an acreage, and I had no where to go. I don't have a car, and he'd taken my cell phone, and it was -20 Celsius and there was a foot of snow on the ground. He took off, and I packed up my things and called my mother.

If you really knew me, you'd know that even though I'm screaming inside, I can't cry. My arm is pulsating, begging for the gentle touch of metal, crying out for release. I might give in. I want to. I want to bleed out my frustrations, or I'm going to scream. I can't stay here, but I can't leave. They expect me to be strong, but how can I ever be strong enough for this?

If you really knew me, you'd know that I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I want to write books, make music, and raise a family, but I can't do any of that. You can't make any money doing any of those things, and I don't know how to love myself, so I can't expect anyone to love me, boy or girl.​

Well, that was my break down. Now a bit of poetry, and I shall disappear.


Am I your canvas;
your experiment?
To wreck and ruin
to your hearts content?​

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Thank you... I guess that's what I'm trying to do. Pull through.

-hugs Con back-​

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... Thank you, all of you. You have no idea how much all of this means to me... Thank you -hugs everyone-​

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I want to thank all of you for being so... just... perfect. I'm smiling for the first time in the past two days because you all have the hugest hearts. If I could stretch my arms around the world and give you all massive, never ending hugs, I'd do it in a heart beat. Frick. I love all your faces. Thank you so much.​

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Thank you, both of you. -hugs-​

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