For years, I tried to avoid the darkness inside of me. I tried to pretend I was okay. I tried to ignore the things in my head. I find it hard to tell people about what wrong with me because I was always afraid they’d look at me as a monster. I’ve tried to ask my friends for help but they all ran away in fear when I told them. I tried to tell my family, but they see me as a monster and crazy. I’ve thought of killing myself in order to protect the people I loved from the demons inside of me. What did I do to deserve this? I know the answer. But in order for you to understand, I need to take you back to the beginning.

When I was a child, I had everything I wanted. I had a mother and a father who loved each other. I had siblings who motivated me and pushed me to chase my dreams. I had friends who always made me laugh and would go on adventures with around the neighborhood. I dreams, goals, and hope. I loved making friends with kids at my school. I even fell in love. I had a house with pets and my family. I remember Christmas time was always the best because I got to see my whole family and friends come together to celebrate.

But when I turned 13, my world fell apart. My family broke contact with each other. My parents divorced. My brother began to hate me for a long time and I had no clue why. I would hear my parents crying. My father became suicidal. My sister was being abused by her boyfriend. My friends betrayed me and threw me away. My siblings and I were separated and as a child I didn’t know why everything happened. Everything around me was disappearing and stabbed me in the back. All I felt was pain.

I felt broken. I felt hopeless. I had no one. No one heard me. No one saw me. No one understood me. There was no one left. Memories tortured me. The pain people left behind on me was all I carried. Regrets tortured me. All I had was pain.

No 13 year old should ever feel the desire to end their life. But I did. And I tried.

The day I chose to end my life. Was the day I regret the most. I remembered writing so many letters. Each to someone I lost. To someone I loved. There was not a single shine of hope in my mind. I just wanted the pain to go away. I was too broken to be fixed.

I took a lot of pills in attempt to end my life. And went to sleep, hoping I’d die in my sleep.

But I had a dream. I remembered seeing a tall tree. Underneath that tree I saw a dead child. Instantly, I regretted taking my own life. I remember screaming so loud it would echo in my mind. And thats when I heard the voice. At first I couldn’t understand. It sounded like whispers overlapping but soon enough I heard what he said. He asked me when I wanted to die? What age I wanted to die?

I told him I wanted to die when I turned 15. I was only 13 at the time. I only wanted to live 2 more years. Because I didn’t think there would be anything left when I turned 15. The voice said if I agreed to end my life when I turn 15, he’ll grant me a friend. A friend who would help me become stronger. A friend who would understand me and be there when I needed someone. A friend who would make me smile and laugh again. A friend who would help me get back up and fight through the storm I was going through.

A friend who would never leave me. 

I was alone. I needed someone. I needed hope. I needed strength. I needed help. I was only a child.

So I agreed. And with that, I woke up. I was alive. My letters were never opened. My door was never opened. No one checked on me. I came back to the hell I tried to leave. For a while I didn’t know my purpose for why I was still alive. I though there was a reason on why death didn’t take me away. And for years I tried to find that answer.

When I became a freshman in High school, thats when I found the reason. I was 14. I remember I had a friend who came with me to high school but she abandoned me and left me behind. I was alone again. But I wasn’t sad. It was something I was use to. I didn’t feel anything at all. Just numbness. People would pick on me because of how numb I was. Boys in class would sexually harass me, people I called friends would call me names and make fun of me, teachers would embarrass me in front of the whole class. I wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t cry. I was too broken to feel anything.

I spent my time in the library alone during lunches and after school, and thats when I first heard him. Julian. That’s his name. The voice inside my head. He was my only friend. He was there when no one else was. And he’s the one who made me the person I was today. Julian would help me stand up for myself when the bullying happened. He would tell me that people were “assholes” and “bitches” for picking on me. He would tell me what to say back when people called me names, He would help me become stronger and lift me back up when I was feeling down. When he wasn’t helping me, He always knew how to make me smile and laugh by telling his stupid jokes and even helped me make friends. I knew Julian wasn’t good for me when he began to become more dark, when a boy tried to touch me again, Julian took over my mind and nearly stabbed the kid’s hand with my pencil and began to scare him. The boy never spoke to me again after. And for a while, I never blamed Julian. I thanked him for helping me become strong again. I loved Julian. He was my friend. He took away my pain.

Julian helped me become confident and become more active and happy. He brought me out of the darkness I was in and made me see the light in the world. I was able to make friends again and do things I love again because of him. But when I became better, I stopped speaking to Julian. I threw him away. I ignored him. And he got angry.

When I turned 15, thats when the war began. I was suppose to die at this age. I wanted to die at this age. I promised to die at this age. But I didn’t want to. Not anymore. I had became close to my family again and began to speak to them more. I had friends who cared for me and made me smile. I had dreams, goals, and hope. I even fell in love. This part sounds familiar right? It’s the same as my childhood before everything fell apart. And it happened again. Everything fell apart. Julian became so much louder that I could no longer ignore him. My ears would ring so loud. I was going out of control and Julian was taking the wheel. At first, I listened to him because I believed the reason death didn’t take me was because I needed to do these things before I died. He began making me break apart friendships I had, he made me break up with the person I loved and break him apart, he made me scare away my friends. He wanted me to kill the people who hurt me before, kill people who hurt my family. Julian broke down everything I built, using my own hands. I begged him to leave me alone but he never did. Julian was able to take some control of me. I would become more agressive and violent. I became angrier to people around me ran away in fear from me. I felt that everyone around me was out to get me. I became dangerous that I couldn’t even be in the same room as my family sometimes. Julian became a demon inside of me who is torturing me till I take my own life.

And I fought. And fought. But he still lives in my mind. I found ways to help me stop hearing him. I would wear headphones a lot and play music that would help block his words. When Julian takes over, I would self harm in order to come back. When he tells me to kill people and I have urges to hurt people, I would bleed because he would stop talking if he saw blood. So I chose it to be mine.

I’m turning 17. I’ve lived 2 years more. I should’ve died 2 years ago. The more days pass, The more I become like him.

I feel like my only way to get rid of him is to kill myself.

If thats what it would take to keep my family safe, I would do it.

But I’ve still got a little strength in me left to fight him.

But how long will this war go on?

 

 

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