Excerpt from chapter "GRAY "

"It’s hard to remember the thoughts that I held and the feelings I felt, not hard because of time but hard because they are wounds that are freshly healed. As I write, I am referred to a place I believe is as close to death as you can be while being awake. I walked and lived in shame of myself and I had no real identity, I saw no potential so I decided to give up. I gave up smiling and I gave up trying, I surrendered to solitude and gave in to depression. I stopped trying to see the point in going on and accepted that there was no big picture for me, only the sealed box I lived in. The only thing I clung to was the love I had for my family; I knew the pain they’d feel if I wasn’t around to share experiences. Their lives would be in vain if I gave up even though they did not. To me I felt that committing suicidal acts would mean I was better than my sisters, they had so much more pain and rejection by no fault of their own, so if they had to bear, then so would I. Looking back I see who was stronger and who carried who. I learned I had to survive just by watching my sisters; stronger pain that I could never know was hidden by them both.

The pain I felt in my mind was unexplainable. My feelings hurt so much; I could physically feel pain. I would get headaches and my hands would ache. I got used to crying and didn’t see a problem in doing it everyday; I would be surprised if a day went by without me shedding tears. I felt sorry for myself, and I reminded myself that I was so unfortunate to be me all the time. I could be on a bus or at school and I would begin to think about how I looked or what someone said and begin to cry, or I would feel the urge to eat and get the same outcome. I knew that I shouldn’t eat but I knew my mind wouldn’t let me forget the craving. Seeing a beautiful girl or any girl I could not compare myself to would move me to tears. Acknowledging a couple acting loving together or simply seeing a man I could have interest in, deeply saddened me as well. I told myself I could never have that; I couldn’t love myself so how could anyone else? I was a waste and not worth the time and effort.

In time, I learned to deal with my discovery of self hatred a little better. I nonchalantly made a new character that was just a being, a being that walked in a haze and did and said things only because it was necessary to live. I was never happy and never mad, just accepting of the days that passed and the misfortunes of life. It was like being asleep for a long time or walking in fog, so I got splashed with water – “so what”, I got fired – “ohh well”; I got a promotion - “ok”; no feeling and no feelings. Nothing was valued more than the last thing no matter how big or small the situation. I was partial to nothing. I hated this me as much as the others, so I began to punish myself. I had never called myself stupid before and never had felt incapable; I convinced myself all of this was true. I remember using drawing paper to create huge signs to hang on my bedroom walls. The signs would read things like “he doesn’t want you” and “you’re too fat”, some would call this motivation, but I used it as a tool of remembrance. If I had forgotten about yesterday’s problems they where fresh on my walls when I awoke. I very much could relate to cutters (those who cut themselves for pain replacement) I needed to physically feel pain to understand why my feelings hurt so bad. I looked for reasons to cry and somehow I always found them, always feeling alone in my head and alone in my heart.”