Post by sapphiresmoke on Jul 16, 2008 13:54:14 GMT -5
An entry from Player 2886289:
“Just Die”
My name is Addie Foster, and I feel dead inside. I feel as if flesh has been stripped from my bones, and my heart aches as it beats. Even right now, laying on this too white bed in a too white room, it aches. My mother was here, and she was crying silent tears. Hot tears that dropped on me, burning my skin. I remembered…
Dad died less than a month before I changed schools. He was murdered, shot at a 7-Eleven buying me a soda. A soda I exclusively asked for at midnight. His death was my fault too. I vaguely remember standing outside the door of my first class. I could hear the stupid teacher speaking to the even stupider students.
“Students, we have a new girl. Her name is Addie Foster and her father has died recently. Be very sensitive about her feelings and what questions you ask her.”
I asked to change schools for this very reason. I wanted to escape the looks, the stares, the “I’m sorry”s, and the “He’ll always be with you”s. In my opinion they were lies. I just wanted the cold, hard, truth.
I remember being depressed, and always angry. I didn’t have any friends, or anybody to talk to. I didn’t have anyone to help me, or tell me I needed professional help. If a girl or boy tried to befriend me, I pushed them away. My reasoning behind this was that if I was happy, had friends, and moved on with my life, I would forget my dad. Why should my life continue, when his had ended? Why should my heart beat, and ache, when his has stopped? My head often buzzed with why’s; it gave me a headache that never went away. I found out it was much easier to remember my dad when I was sad.
Eventually, no one wanted me around them, and I could see why. I had the talent of walking into any normal classroom and depressing everyone in it. Apparently I pushed one girl too far. Angela Bay was a preppy-peppy, love is blind, so happy she’s oblivious, girl. The exact opposite of me. I can clearly recall her angry red curls bouncing up and down at me. Angel wrinkled her nose at me and said, “What’s your problem? Can’t you just be normal? Your bad attitude is sickening me.” In return, I told her to go jump off a cliff. “You first. The world would be a more cheerful place, that’s for sure. Just die Addie!” Angela encouraged. Deep down I knew the words were a lie. I could do good in this world, I just didn’t want to. At the time though “just die” seemed like the perfect solution to my pain. It was the truth that I wanted, people thought I should just die.
I went to my mother’s room once I got home. She was napping in her bed with a bottle of sleeping pills beside her. She had opened them, but never took any. I tried to close her door silently so I would not wake her. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. The girl in the mirror was not Addie Foster. The mirror girl was the reason I had to end it. This girl that stared at me through the mirror hurt everybody, and was hurting herself. I opened the bottle and sent the white, fluffy, cotton cascading towards the floor. The per scripted dose was two and the max was four a day. I swallowed six. I waited ten minutes before everything became hazy. I only remember the feeling of regret. Regret pierced into me when my mother pounded on the door desperately. “Addie! Are you okay?” My voice was too slurred to answer. My mother pounded more violently, “Addie open this door NOW!” I climbed off the floor (how had I gotten there?) and unlocked the door to tell my mother how sorry I was, and that I loved her very much. The last thing I saw was my mother’s anguished face at the sight of her only child dying. A fog came over my dilated eyes, and then I was asleep.
I woke up in the same too white room I was in now. My eyes were matted and glued together. I had to pry them apart to see all the gifts people had left me. There were at least twenty of them. Twenty people who did not want me to die. One card read “Get well soon”; it was from Angela Bay. I smiled for the first time in two months. Of course it was because the thought of Angela sitting at home feeling guilty, but it was a start.
I have to go to a psychiatric hospital after I leave here. So I’ll finally get to talk to people who understand me. I’ve decided to try to live a happy, normal life. For my mom, my dad, and most of all, for myself.
“Just Die”
My name is Addie Foster, and I feel dead inside. I feel as if flesh has been stripped from my bones, and my heart aches as it beats. Even right now, laying on this too white bed in a too white room, it aches. My mother was here, and she was crying silent tears. Hot tears that dropped on me, burning my skin. I remembered…
Dad died less than a month before I changed schools. He was murdered, shot at a 7-Eleven buying me a soda. A soda I exclusively asked for at midnight. His death was my fault too. I vaguely remember standing outside the door of my first class. I could hear the stupid teacher speaking to the even stupider students.
“Students, we have a new girl. Her name is Addie Foster and her father has died recently. Be very sensitive about her feelings and what questions you ask her.”
I asked to change schools for this very reason. I wanted to escape the looks, the stares, the “I’m sorry”s, and the “He’ll always be with you”s. In my opinion they were lies. I just wanted the cold, hard, truth.
I remember being depressed, and always angry. I didn’t have any friends, or anybody to talk to. I didn’t have anyone to help me, or tell me I needed professional help. If a girl or boy tried to befriend me, I pushed them away. My reasoning behind this was that if I was happy, had friends, and moved on with my life, I would forget my dad. Why should my life continue, when his had ended? Why should my heart beat, and ache, when his has stopped? My head often buzzed with why’s; it gave me a headache that never went away. I found out it was much easier to remember my dad when I was sad.
Eventually, no one wanted me around them, and I could see why. I had the talent of walking into any normal classroom and depressing everyone in it. Apparently I pushed one girl too far. Angela Bay was a preppy-peppy, love is blind, so happy she’s oblivious, girl. The exact opposite of me. I can clearly recall her angry red curls bouncing up and down at me. Angel wrinkled her nose at me and said, “What’s your problem? Can’t you just be normal? Your bad attitude is sickening me.” In return, I told her to go jump off a cliff. “You first. The world would be a more cheerful place, that’s for sure. Just die Addie!” Angela encouraged. Deep down I knew the words were a lie. I could do good in this world, I just didn’t want to. At the time though “just die” seemed like the perfect solution to my pain. It was the truth that I wanted, people thought I should just die.
I went to my mother’s room once I got home. She was napping in her bed with a bottle of sleeping pills beside her. She had opened them, but never took any. I tried to close her door silently so I would not wake her. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. The girl in the mirror was not Addie Foster. The mirror girl was the reason I had to end it. This girl that stared at me through the mirror hurt everybody, and was hurting herself. I opened the bottle and sent the white, fluffy, cotton cascading towards the floor. The per scripted dose was two and the max was four a day. I swallowed six. I waited ten minutes before everything became hazy. I only remember the feeling of regret. Regret pierced into me when my mother pounded on the door desperately. “Addie! Are you okay?” My voice was too slurred to answer. My mother pounded more violently, “Addie open this door NOW!” I climbed off the floor (how had I gotten there?) and unlocked the door to tell my mother how sorry I was, and that I loved her very much. The last thing I saw was my mother’s anguished face at the sight of her only child dying. A fog came over my dilated eyes, and then I was asleep.
I woke up in the same too white room I was in now. My eyes were matted and glued together. I had to pry them apart to see all the gifts people had left me. There were at least twenty of them. Twenty people who did not want me to die. One card read “Get well soon”; it was from Angela Bay. I smiled for the first time in two months. Of course it was because the thought of Angela sitting at home feeling guilty, but it was a start.
I have to go to a psychiatric hospital after I leave here. So I’ll finally get to talk to people who understand me. I’ve decided to try to live a happy, normal life. For my mom, my dad, and most of all, for myself.
