Young Writers Society

Luciana (Ciana) Lesher:

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

People ask me why I start a book from the end. I always tell them that if I don’t, how will I know if I like the beginning. You see, that’s how I see my life, if I don’t read the end how do I know if I am to like the way it starts. You never know really, how something is going to turn out. Most people think that if a parent dies, the other will become more caring. But in reality that’s not how it works. In my life everything went downhill when my father passed away. My mom spiraled down into a deep dark-black abyss, dragging me with her. I would watch her sit there and drink can after can of Budweiser, tossing the crushed aluminum across the room into a pile of more crushed cans. It was my job to do the shopping and cleaning and washing of clothes. I was practically Cinderella in my own home. Something that only got worse as the months went on.

People look at me when I walk down the halls of my high school, whispering behind my back. I just lower my gaze and continue walking. It is hard to keep up with all the stares and gossip that float around. My friends ask me how I am doing when they gain the courage to talk to me. I never understand the reason why they look at me like I am a broken person. Yes, I may have lost someone that I dearly loved and who dearly loved me, but I see now that I can still live on. It is something that I can live through and recover from, I am strong not weak.

Before my father died, my life was as normal as any teens. I had friends that I hung out with all the time. I was even getting perfect grades in all of my classes. There was even those time when I broke the rules like others my own age and snuck out to party. Many times as well I may have picked up a beer can and had a few sips, but shush, don’t tell anyone…

I sit in my room and think about what is happening. Why is the world so cruel? I don’t understand half the time why I am in trouble. What did I do wrong? It seems as if my entire family doesn’t even want me here. I don’t know. Maybe I am just overreacting but still deep down inside I know that something is not right. Being home, just doesn’t feel like home. I feel isolated and alone, thrown into the wild with nothing. I look at pictures and see a smiling little girl; she seems so happy and content. What happened to her? It’s like she disappeared with the first year her dad was deployed to Iraq. Her soul left with him and never returned, even though he did. Was it lost some were out in battle? Now when I look at her in the mirror I see a more grown up version. Yet when she smiles it never reaches her eyes.

Her face says ‘I am happy, everything’s alright’ but when I look closer I see that she is lying. She just wants to hide the truth from everyone else. She doesn’t want them to see her true pain. Something’s wrong with me…I know.

Here is my confession to you:

I lay in my bed crying at night. Sometimes I don’t even know why I cry. I just lay there and feel the tears fall down my check. When I do know why I cry, it’s because of how I see myself. Others tell me that I am pretty, skinny and fun to be around. I laugh and tell them thank you but inside I don’t believe them. When I look in my bedroom mirror I see a fat ugly girl staring back at me. My friends tell me that I do not need makeup, but without it I feel stupid and worthless. All the foundation and powder is like a mask that conceals the true me. A part of me I don’t want others to see.

A confession to me:

My heart is cold and locked away, hidden from the real world outside my window. It’s a battle raging throughout my body, killing me from inside out. I don’t want to think about everything that I have done wrong. I don’t want to believe it when I hear other people saying I am being a baby and a bitch. I want to feel loved and better than everyone else. What I am doing is wrong. I have nothing left, just an empty heart.

I am sorry. Sorry for being selfish and self-centered. Will any of you ever be able to forgive me? I hope. I am sorry for only caring about me myself and I. I will try to fix that. I am sorry for not sticking up for those who are hurt and down and I am sorry for holding your hand when it is needed. I will try harder.

For my friends:

I don’t really know what to say. I guess I can say I love you guys to but somehow that seems wrong. I think that without any of you I would have ended my life. You are all a life line found only once. I can’t tell you how much I rely on all of you. I am sorry for being mean or even acting like it. That’s not the real me.

None of you know this but when I look at you I am jealous. I am jealous of how perfect your lives are. I am being vain but sometimes I wish that I was you and you were me.

I can’t say anymore, I hope that as a family you all grow stronger when I leave. I now must live with my aunt; I will move away and start a new life. Maybe this will be better. Until then my friends...

♥ ♦ ♥ ♦ ♥ ♦ ♥ ♦ ♥

Jeremy Reed:

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Being alive is like living in hell. Oh how I wish that sometimes I could just fall asleep and never wake up. I would give everything I had to just watch my entire being slipped away into endless slumber. You know that sometimes I just sit here and watch the cars drive by; sometimes I may have a blade to my skin. No one stops; no one asks if I am ok. That’s alright by me. I don’t want others to care about me. I can’t stand there pity. It sickens me. People look at me as If I am a freak; they stare and whisper behind my back. Well you know what, fuck them. I don’t give a damn what they think about me. They can sit there and stare at me all they want. People are just cold-hearted people who don’t know a thing about what life is really like.

When my mom was alive, everything was ok. I guess. You could say that with her around I didn’t cut myself and you’d be true. But I still didn’t have the most family perfect childhood. Yeah, it was a hell of a lot better then what I have now but like in every family, there are secrets, lies and so much more shit. My mom was secretly hiding a cigarette addiction from my father. My father was hiding his “Girlfriend” from my mother.

Maybe being the child and the third person in that tangle of lies wasn’t so bad. I got a lot of attention from both of my parents; practically anything I asked for was mine. Kind of got annoying at times. I would secretly wish that they would be like normal parents and tell me I couldn’t have whatever I asked for. That never happened; great, right?

I walk down the halls of my school. I am not smiling yet I feel like the smile is trying to push its way through. It is a struggle to hide my sadness and sorrow from my peers who watch others with a judge mental eye. So many times I have to paint a mask on my face; smile and be ‘happy’.

‘Happy’, that’s a funny word. What does it really mean to be ‘happy’? It seems like when you are ‘happy’ people expect you to smile and laugh. Why? Couldn’t someone still be ‘happy’ and still bottle it in.

A confession to you:

I am afraid people will think that I am over reacting or just trying to get others attention. I am afraid of being judged and criticized by how I look and how I act. I am afraid of others being able to chip and tear away my mascaraed mask, letting the ‘real’ I shine through. I am afraid to have others see the real me.

Reality, it’s a word that has so many meanings. What is really real? How do you know when you are really experiencing reality or fiction? In reality, we are just more faces, more souls wondering a half-full world. Every choice we make, or thing we say, has already been made or said before. When you try not to be like everyone else, it turns out that you are just wearing black in the middle of the night. However the worst thing is, to be original instead of ordinary, the world looks at you with distain when you are original…