The Suicide Note

The Suicide Note(Zonera) I've never thought that I was lovable.
People tell me I'm fat, or I'm spotty - and I'm weak when it comes to fighting physically, but I know I'm not strong enough to fight mentality either. And so, the day that I almost got beaten to death by Dimanche and her gang, I knew I had to do something. I sat on the concrete wall, sliding down it slowly, and I cried softly - the pain of their bruises dismissed amongst the carcass of pain that ate at me from inside.

I'm not skinny.

People have told me that I was 'okay', when I asked them how if I looked fat in the mirror. My belly protruded and stuck out from over my belt at times when I felt a little too peckish, and then throughout the day, it would subside back to its normal 'okay' standard. People would nudge sometimes, when I asked, and I would blink back tears - because 'okay' was never good enough for them, for anyone really. I was fat, and podgy in places people try to keep slim and under control, and as a result I was always stared at when I went out. I didn't think I was fat. My mother told me I was beautiful, and I-

I'm fat.

I just have an extra pouch of skin layer where I shouldn't really, quoted by society anyways. Dominate always used to pinch at it, and they used to poke me with sticks - but I was too fat to run away, so I just stood there and took in the jabs that left red marks on my skin for days, but of course - I'd 'fallen into a nettle bush' if they ever asked. I sat down on beds and sofas, and sometimes they would leave a gaping dent where I'd sat, even though I desperately tried to hold out most of the weight by sitting on the edge, but to no avail. Every birthday of mine has never had a happy ending, I try and try and try to have fun, but every single object that seems unfortunate enough to cross my path reminds me again and again that I'm worthless - an overweight piece of ugly space that no one wants to claim.

It's no good writing this note. I don't know why anyone would want to read it. I don't know the purpose of my being, why I was ever born, because all that's ever happened in the fifteen years of my life that I've lived - is the constant array of bullying and self hate. My wrists are scarred, my heart is coal and I have nothing to offer to anyone. I'm not lovable, no one would want me - if they did, I'd always have myself to blame for any mistake that they make when they're with me - because let's face it - who'd ever love a fifteen year old, fat, spotty and scarred with burns and cuts from the tips of her hairline to the cuticles on her toenails. Who'd love that?

This is the end.

This is where the story ends, although in a sense, it never began. This is where I want to say my thank-you's and I-love-you's to all the people that have actually brought me happiness in my life.

But theres nobody to thank.

Thank you Mum, for never telling me the society that I'd have to grow up in the future, would starve themselves on endless diets - without apprehending the fact the only thing that was deprived was their hearts and minds. Thank you Dad, for never going ahead with that abortion plan you once contemplated long over, but in the end - you still had me. Thank you, because it was probably the worst mistake you'd ever made in your life. Thank you Miss Jones, for always telling me to stand up to the bullies - but when the real problem came, you just pretend you couldn't see it - you just gave me the number for a helpline, knowing that I'd never ever have the courage to call them myself. Thank you to Dimanche, thank you to her gang - you gave me a life that was highlighted in the scent of blood and kitchen knives, you gave me a life that I would one day decide to take, because I couldn't handle your pain.

And that day is today.