Types of tears (COMPLETED)

chapter 2

I feel my alarm buzz next to me, I look at it and see it was 5:40. The sun wasn't up yet but I had to get up, I take myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom to shower and change. I never see my parents before I leave school, they wake up at 7 cause their job starts at 8, and would never sacrifice any sleep time to even see if I even left for school or not. Typical of them, I dress in black jeans with a long sleeve shirt to cover up scars I had from over the years, I cut myself a few times, thinking it would take the emotional pain out of me but it didn't, all it did was brought me more pain after temporary relief.

Once in a while I cut again but almost never I stopped seeing the point in it, no temporary relief was going to fix my life at all, it was just going to mark me, make me uglier than I already am, it was going to show people how lost, hopeless, insane, weird and broken I am. And I didn't want anyone to know, I didn't want anyone to think I was doing this for attention or because I was some kind of brat, they just didn't understand that I...was sad.

I walk out of the bathroom getting my backpack in my room and leave this house that I don't consider home with a granola bar, it was still dark outside but I didn't care, I stopped caring about my safety a long time ago, I didn't care if I died, no one did.

I reach the bus stop and sit down on a beach and wait, I just wait looking at nothing, feeling nothing and saying nothing, but knowing there was a war inside me, knowing monsters were inside me, with just one purpose. Trying to eat me alive. And they were winning.

I see a bus coming and I put on my glasses on to read the number of it and make sure it was mine. As it stopped in front of me, I got in, and held onto the railing in the middle, quickly scanning the place. Everyone was just looking ahead as zombies with a pale look in their face, some reading, some with headphones and some writing things down. I wonder if this people are anything like me, if they have problems like me, of being ignored and unwanted, if they had scars under their clothes, covered up to hide their broken parts and weak lives like me. I wonder if they suffer from depression or what kind of mental disorders they have, I wonder their life, wanting to know desperately that I wasn't the only broken person out here, that there was more.

I stay quiet and look down the hole way until I see the school outside the window, my eyes squint and I get out walking into school property I walk in with a group of people seeing as some would run to their friends and hug them, or walk to a group of people and start to take, I saw how couples would walk in hand by hand or have a make out session together against a wall, how they would talk about parties and trips and fun times they had together. I never had any of that, I was always a loner because I didn't fit in with anyone in school, no one understood me and I didn't understand anyone, making this invisible force field around me that I just couldn't break away. I walk through the halls feeling as I get pushed or shoved into walls or other people just passing by, I hear their insults as I keep walking, I try to drown them out up it's so hard to try to ignore the things people say about you when they really hurt you.

Why do people even do that? What's the point in hurting other people? Does that make them feel better? Special? Or is it just some game in their head?

I can't wait to leave this school, I want to get out of here as soon as possible. "Just one more year" I say to myself every chance I get. But that only brings me more horrifying questions. What then? What if life is just a high school trip? What if it never gets better? What if this is all that there is? Then it's not one more year, it's my hole life, and I don't want to live a life like that, I simply don't.

I walk in my first period and take a seat in the corner it the class in the back, this is the place that no one ever looks at. I see as other people walk in with friends and sit down talking with them, others take out their phone and play with it. I see a group and people look at me and then whisper to each other, I look down from them and take out my book to pretend I'm doing something. It was literature and English class, this class I actually liked, in fact, it's the thing I like about school and basically my life. Sine it's literature we do a lot or reading and writing, so it's almost always a quite class, and we do activities that don't need any partners or social skills at all, plush I like to read, it's the only thing that isn't hard for me, and it allows me to escape my life even if it's just for 5 minutes and transport me into a beautiful world with no pain at all, just beautiful things.

I look at my text book and read the activity for today, unless the teacher changes it, and it was to write a report about something, that wasn't so bad, they had a list of things that the report should have and how to construct it. It was a solo job, and I was happy because of it. We waited for the teacher to come in, he was tall and think and tan, his nose was round, and he had gray eyes, a weird combination but I liked it, unusual just like me.

"Good morning class" Mr. Steve starts as some say classmates say good morning back, I wasn't one of them.

He starts to tell us to open the book to the page I was already on and to read the assignment, then asks us questions about what we think we should write about. I begin to hear suggestions of writing about animals or contamination or what we think about leaving high school or bullies. I sure have enough information to right about that subject. Mr Steve just looks at everyone in the process and in that he looks at me from some brief seconds before looking away, that was enough to get my palms sweetie, the only idea of being called on for an opinion or having too much attention on me was terrifying, I wish it wasn't, I wish I could control myself but I simply couldn't.

After a long time of suggestions that only got stupider like writing about your favorite shoes or the amount of hairs you have on your head Mr Steve shush everyone down before he walks to the center of the class.

"I only wanted to hear your opinions, that fact it that I already have something in mind for you to write" I roll my eyes, this was a big waste of time then.

"I want you to write about life, and what you think is the meaning or purpose of it" this was going to be harder than I thought, I mean what would I write? I wanted to kill myself every other day, and see absolutely no purpose in my life. I look around and see a lot of people confused or whispering to each other.

"I want you to be as honest as possible about it, the only person that will read this will be me, and the best work will have a reward at the end" I lean back irritated, did this teacher really think that we were just going to open up with him and tell him how we're feeling and what we think about life just that easy. I could tell everyone else though that to, giving him confused and annoyed looks.

"But this isn't going to be about your life" this was it, I was angry, that would only mean that we would have to team up with someone, I was going to have to write down someone else feels and have to talk to them. I'm going to fail. I sigh under my breath seeing a girl raise her hand.

"Whose life is it going to be then? Someone from a book?" She said making me look up again, if that was true maybe this wasn't so bad at all.

"No not from a book. This is a special assignment something that has only been done this year. We will go as a class to a hospital 3 times a week and have each of you talk to a patient, and at the end of 3 mouths, you will write the report about life but thought their eyes"

I have to blink to understand, they want us to talk to dying people to just get some report out of them, and here I am thinking I was dark.
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