Documenting how school has torn me apart.
Appetite has gone. Meals went down to one per day. All I do is sleep now. No motivation for art or work. I cry out of frustration often. I feel empty. My memory has deteriorated. I need to take supplements because I don’t eat enough in order to get the nutrients I need.
People at school have really broken me for the past four years. Teachers as well.
Please stop criticizing me. I’m just tired.
This whole working-5 days/40 hours-a-week ordeal while somehow finding time to finish my assignments for school and doing laundry before outwearing 98% of my garments has really offered an entirely new perspective for me. It has, for one, definitely shown me just how much I lacked responsibility and grace. I could go on and on through a hundred more traits I’ve learned that I lacked but I don’t have the time since I have to get on that laundry….
In all this chaos you taught her that love was breathlessness. You taught her that passion was brief and temporary. And with your lips you taught her the misfortune of lust. You forgot to tell her that love was sugar coated madness. Told her love was good and kind. Forgot to show her the thin line between love and pain.
In no way was she built to withstand the damage brought upon her. Sadness rose up like oceans to embrace her and she let it soak in the depths of her collar bones. Every drop of your rage that dripped from your fingers left burns on her skin. At the age of sixteen she had wrists made of steel. Eyes filled with ebullience and lips traced with innocence. But at eighteen she already knew how to carve apologies onto her skin leaving openings just to feel herself heal. She tangled you in her fingers and you let her. She let words live on her bones—let it wear her down—fracture her. Her lips were now bitter and speckles of resent rested on the rims of her iris. The skin she deemed to be made of steel melted at her feet. She was only sixteen but you already taught her how to break. Busted veins, busted lips you abused her with false kisses.
I hope someday someone hurts you the way you hurt her. Bleed yourself clean and smoke out all the bad parts. I hope someone makes you fall inevitably the way ashes fall from cigarettes. I hope the burnt out taste hurts your tongue. I hope memories of her begging for truth, for words that you could not say replay in your thoughts. And when you finally find silence in this madness, I hope the silence is deep enough it hurts your ears.
I am in a constant state of stress. And it bothers me deeply when my dad calls me lazy and yells at me asking why I didn’t do certain tasks sooner. It’s because I’m tired. I go to school from 7:45 to 3:00. I go to work after school and get off at 9:00. I get home at 9:30. I eat (when I still have the energy and appetite). I shower. I do my homework. I sleep. My dad goes to work from 8:00 to 4:30. He goes home, eats, shower, watches TV and sleeps.
Tell me who has a more stressful schedule.
At least you have someone who cares.