Pixels & Pages

Calling all creative teens! Send us your best poetry, stories, and artwork! Accepted entries will be featured on this page, with a chance to be published in Pixels & Pages, our annual Teen Magazine! Submit your work at any MCPL location, or online at www.mcpl.us/teenzone/publishing.
NOVEMBER 3, 2012
Sad Story
I walked to my room, trying to hold back the tiers till I closed the door behind me. I flung myself on the floor and started crying, trying to be quiet so no one would hear me. I looked up at my desk and saw a pair of scissors. I had done it many times before, so I picked it up and sliced my arm till I could see blood trickling out. I stared at my arm. It was filled with blood and the makeup, I had used to cover the scares, had washed away.
For years I had been cutting myself, purging, smoking, and not eating. My parents had split up three year ago and since then my life and family had been falling apart. No one in my family talks and my friends do not seem to care what happens to me. I was only a fourteen year old girl! I didn’t deserve to have that life. I should not have had to go through that. It was just not fair.
Just then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. It was my mom. I ran into my bathroom and washed the blood off my arm and tried to cover the scars up as well as I could.
“Ally?” my mom called, knocking on the door. “I need to talk to you. Come down stairs.” I knew she knew something. Once finished in the bathroom, I walked down stairs. My mom was waiting for me at the table. She had my diary in her hands. My heart skipped a beat. She knew all my deepest darkest secrets. Never the less, I sat down next to her. She asked me my I was cutting myself, purging, smoking and not eating.
“I don’t do that anymore,” I lied. “I did it for a little while when you and dad separated, but I don’t anymore.” I’m not sure if she believed me, but just could not tell her the truth. Not then.
“I want you to go see a counselor,” she told me. I did not want to go see a counselor. I did not want to talk to a complete stranger about my problems. But I said I would go. I just did not fell like fighting anymore.
Monday morning I woke up and went to my counselor, came back home and went to work. I did this every Monday for months. It was not helping me at all but I kept going so everyone would think I was fine. But I wasn’t. I was still cutting; purging, smoking and I would skip meals.
After a while, I grew pale and weak. Then people knew something was wrong. My parents and pastor sat me down and told me I could not live like this anymore. They said I needed to go to rehab. Again, I said I would go.
The next afternoon I started packing. I was leaving in twenty four hours. I finished packing and zipped my bag. But I knew something was missing. Something that I use all the time and at the time I could not cope without it. I opened my desk door and took my knife out, put it in my bag and zipped it once again.
I walk down stairs were my family and a few friends were waiting for me. We said our goodbyes and I was off to St. Helena Recovery Center in Napa Valley, California. No one knew what was going to happen then. They just hoped everything would be okay.

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Categories: Teen Publishing Project2012-13Short Story/Essay