My name is Erika and for the last three years I’ve suffered from what started as a problem that felt like a solution and has turned into an everyday battle with temptation. I like the spotlight, I like to make people laugh, I like to feel like people like me, but when I don’t and things go wrong so people laugh at me rather than at what I’m saying, then I tear myself down. I’ll replay the very situation and rethink it until it makes sense, until I can find the point where I should have stopped, so maybe I could save myself . . . from myself.
I grew up the baby of the family, which makes me the most fortunate, right, wrong. Lie, cheat, make mistakes, I can’t do that, my brother and sisters all got the privileges and because I’m the baby I’ve supposedly learned from them. What do I get to experience, nothing, I’m boring, I’m dull, there’s no depth to me, and I suck. I like people to think that I’m the normal everyday kid, though; I don’t need people worrying about me.
Once you peel back the layers of hair and cloth, I am exposed, and so is my problem. When someone hurts me mentally, I hurt myself physically because I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t strong enough to protect myself from the cruel world. You’d find awful names carved into my flesh, countless tallies of times I wish I could go back, and a girl about to explode right underneath the surface. I began keeping a journal a little after two years. I thought, maybe when I’m older, if I over come this problem, I can look back and understand why I’m ugly.
April 10
Three times; Mother was nagging me.
April 18
‘HELP’ (13); Ashley is talking about leaving, but I don’t want her to go.
April 19
Twenty-seven times; I’m addicted, and Ashley keeps talking about leaving I’m really going to miss her.
April 22
Fifteen times; she still keeps talking about leaving and it’s playing with my depression, I don’t want to lose her, and I’m addicted to cutting.
April 23
Twenty-three times; pure anger and sadness.
May 13
Forty-eight times; it was Mother’s Day and when everyone came over all they could do is criticize everything I tried my hardest to put together and Brother kept picking at my appearance.
May 16
Fifty times; I’ve been really stressed and Mrs. Blain, who understands, has been, not forgetful, but seems as though she has less time for my trivial problems.
May 20
Ashley is finally gone, it makes me sad, Kim slept with Alex, he doesn’t appreciate her.
May 26
Thirty-nine times; Kim keeps telling me they have sex all the time like it doesn’t hurt me, but she still plays with my head, and Ashley hasn’t been able to hang out.
July 26
‘FAT’, ‘UGLY’, ‘ALONE’, ‘<X3’ (58 ); Kim is obsessed with Alex, Sister and Brother treat me like s**t just because they are older.
August 15
‘SHUT UP’,’WHORE’ (40), nine times; Kim is finally here, and I can’t love her, I told myself I can’t, but she teases me with kisses, groping, and hand holding, and then calls me names.
August 18
One-hundred and one times; Kim read my journal and now knows what I really think about her and Alex, but then she tried lying to me about it.
August 23
Five times; Rich and Brother were being assholes, but then I got angrier that little things like that send me into rage.
November 4
‘HATE’ (13); Mother is making me feel guilty for finally getting out and having fun with my life and she’s just prissy about so many stupid things.
November 5
Thirty-five times; Same reasons as yesterday, but still, she wont let it down.
December 15
‘YOU’RE TO BLAME’ (41), forty-four times; I got involved in this cool club, but the advisor-like person hates me and Mother keeps threatening to take away Scout, and the urge to cut came back.
December 20
Five times; I made Mother cry, she said “I can’t do half the things Lauren can,” and it kills me because I’m hurting the ones I love doing things I love.
December 23
Thirty-five times; It feels like I’ve ruined Christmas and made Mother hate me and Lauren, but she’s dishing out her anger at Brother even though he’s not doing anything wrong.
August 5
‘I HATE’ (14), twenty-two times; The club I love so much is causing me so much stress, and Kristina is twisting all the words I say when I try to express how I feel, making it sound like I’m talking s**t.
August 7
Forty-two times; Same s**t as a couple days ago, but now it’s just exploding into this huge mess.
It’s been almost three months since the last time I broke skin. Still, everyday I fight the urge to jump the blade. I always have to stop and rationalize the situation; break down into tears, write it on a piece of paper and burn it, what ever, just don’t turn to the knife.
I sat there after work, slightly exhausted from the day, and just being a little tired, watching the sun fall down behind the far off hills and houses that perched on these said hills, waiting for Lauren, Kristina, and Brianna. We were thinking about maybe going to watch High School Musical 3 or something. Our boss, Mr. Duncan asked me to help with the Haunted House that night, it was the 31st and it was so busy. Not wanting to sound rude or ungrateful I accepted the offer. I was the youngest, everyone else was thirty+ in age, experienced, and they let me join the race.
I took my first few groups through saying stupid little things that the customers mocked under their breath. Screams, laughter, fun times; I thought I was doing okay, obviously not as good as the other four, but I though I was doing fine. Then, one after another, I started getting complaints, I wasn’t loud enough, I wasn’t talking, I wasn’t giving enough forewarning to the actors, I moved too fast, I was getting on the heels of the groups in front of me.
Tears welled in my eyes, as they asked if I was okay.
I bit my quivering lower lip, nodded, then choked back any sign of distress and said, “Oh, yeah, I’m just trying to think of things to say to fill the silence.”
When really I was devising my plan: go on break, go upstairs, find the box cutter, and teach myself a lesson. As I waited, I thought of how good it was going to feel, letting all the anger, all the sadness, everything, every emotion pour from me. The lights came on and that meant break time. I skipped going upstairs when I found scissors.
‘These will work,’ I thought to myself.
By then, I was a little more calmed down; I hid in behind the clothes rack, too embarrassed to show my face. I listened for key words, ‘the young one,’ ‘too quiet,’ ‘out of character.’ I couldn’t control the tears anymore; they streamed down my face, running my fake blood. I slipped away, telling the men in front, our ‘muscle’, that I needed some air. I walked to behind the building, opened the scissors all the way, and slid one of the edges against the skin on my arm. It felt like I was Atlas finally putting the world down. I took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out as if my soul was escaping with it.
I continued destroying myself until blood covered my arm. I leaned against the building and slid down until I was sitting. I closed my eyes and felt at peace. I got up and stumbled back to the entrance, smiling at the Muscle on my way in. Just in time, the lights were flickering, which was the sign telling the actors that break is over.
I played the rest of the night by ear, yelling anything I could think of just to keep them satisfied. I returned my costume when the night was over and left quietly. I didn’t speak to anyone, I didn’t hang out with Lauren, Brianna, or Kristina after; I just went home. I opened the door and locked it behind me. I washed the make-up and dried blood off in the shower, contemplating whether to contradict myself and cut again because I was so angry at myself for cutting again in the first place. I counted each abrasion in my skin and recorded it in my log.
October 31
Fifty-one times, I kept messing up during the Haunted House, I’m incompetent and can’t even handle a simple task such as leading a group of people through a set path.
I called Kim and told her in a message that I needed to talk when ever was good for her. She was the only one who knew because she did it too. We leaned on each other when needed. I crawled into bed as Scout purred next to my hand hinting at me to pet him. I stroked his back and gazed out the window at the cloud-covered moon.
“I don’t need help, right Scout?”
