Nonfiction/Narrative

I was in 6th grade when I came to school. Proud to be gay. Wearing a rainbow chain on my belt loop. “ I like boy dinosaurs” that was the start. Soon I felt like I was worthless. No one liked me. No one seemed to care. I wanted to die. I attempted because I thought no one would care. Went to the hospital for weeks. Nothing could stop my hands from reaching my throat and squeezing. It seemed like hours went by. I just wanted my life to end. Now I’m in 8th grade. I still wonder if I’m worth it. Sometimes I don’t feel I am. My last attempt was in the summer. But I still hurt inside. I let it slip on my wrist with whatever I can find. It was never a thorn bush. Just me. I still do it. At least once a day, and yet I can’t find a reason to stop. I want to. I can’t. I just feel numb. Sometimes I’m happy. But it does not last long. I have been doing this ever since 6th grade. I think it’s time for my story to be heard. As I’m leaving this school soon I think this message should be heard. Check up on your friends. You never know if they might need help. 

S.H.A.T.T.E.R.: Tragedy and The Redefining of a Family

The delicate white walls glimmered with the yellows and oranges of the sun. The light green and cream colored plaid comforter was, as the name implied, comfortable. Mom’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“I have something to tell you guys,” My mom started to say. I paused, my breath hitched in my throat. “Ima and I are officially divorced.” Ima is the Hebrew word for mother, hence what my family calls her. Mom said it calmly, but I could hear the brokenness she was trying so desperately to hide. It wasn't the voice of someone processing heartbreak but more like that of a dove with broken wings, free yet damaged. The divorce was inevitable; we all saw it coming. We all knew Mom and Ima hadn’t truly loved each other for years. The news hit me harder than I ever expected. My hands clenched into fists, shock swept over my body, starting from the depths of my heart and stemming outward.

 I started shaking uncontrollably. My eyes darted back to the walls, which were caving in every second. I eventually settled on my twin sister Libi, who was sobbing as Mom tried to comfort her. Thinking back on this now, I realize the divorce probably hit Libi the worst, as my older sisters and I tried to shield her from Ima’s toxicity, so this was one of her first times hearing the news. My older sisters, Roë and Stav, weren’t in the room with us at the time, but I knew that at the time, they probably suffered the most as they gave themselves the self-appointed job of the guardian. The guardian has the job of protecting everyone else from Ima’s behavior and taking it all on themselves. Even now, Roë and Stav can be especially protective. 

An overwhelming numbness overcame me as the comforter seemed* to swallow me whole. Once again, Mom’s voice shattered my frantic spiraling. She was the main victim of Ima’s mistreatment, however, we all experienced it many times before on a smaller level. Ima and Mom can be opposites in a way; Ima lashes out when she's mad, whereas Mom shuts down and won't talk. “Do you two want to go to Panera?” she asked. I hesitated, trying to formulate a response. “Okay” was the only word that made it past my lips. 

Time raced by as the numbness swelled in my chest, growing larger and larger. My eyes were wet, but no tears flowed. Where my heart used to be was only an infinite hollowness. Like that of a rotted log, dark and eaten away.

This feeling will never fade. That was the one thought my mind clung to. I see now that the divorce was the right decision that led to some positives, but it will never make what I witnessed and experienced ever easier.