This is an original written by one of my friends. She's not very confident with it but I like it and think it has good meaning behind it. Enjoy!
☼ ☀ ☼
※Untitled※
Does it even matter to them anymore? How it makes me feel when they do these things? Do they even stop for a second to think about how it makes me feel? That every time they pull another prank, I’m just one step closer to that deed, just one step closer to home, making this all just disappear. Will they realize what they did then? Realize that making fools of others only results in tragedy? Will they even be sad? I doubt it, they’ll just laugh…laugh, as my coffin is slowly lowered into the ground.
My name is Emily, and I’m fourteen years old. When I was little, I used to eat all the time, whenever I was hungry. My mom would call me her little woman foot-ball player. And I would giggle, it was funny. Me? A foot ball player? I was a little girl, into makeup and purses. I didn’t even think about what my eating habit were doing to my life. My name is Emily, and I’m fourteen years old, I weigh 200 pounds. Although I am tall for my age, and the fat distributes sort of fine, I’m still chunky. And to my friends, it never mattered to them. Until high school, until the word ‘clique’ entered our malnourished minds. They were made fun of for being friends with the human fat-roll. So they ditched me, they ditched me for their own good.
Some friends. Now day’s, they sit with the jocks, popular people, skaters and people that, well aren’t me. I sit alone, usually crying while I eat. People moo sometimes when I pass, I used to ignore it, but that just doesn’t work anymore. And the days in the locker room, when they force me to stand upon their scales as they take videos of the numbers rising and rising.
They don’t care how I feel, they can fit into a size two, why should they care? When they stashed my locker full of rubber pigs, and I cried, they didn’t care. They ate tuna and salad for lunch, why should they care?
So when I stopped eating altogether, they actually noticed. When I hit 125 pounds, I thought I was home free, accepted into the popular people. How wrong was I. What I hadn’t noticed, was that my once pretty skin complexion was turning grey, and the bags under my eyes were deep and purple. Ha, well boy did they notice. I turned into even more of a freak. Where had my life gone wrong?? I made up excuses at dinner, I ate a filling lunch, at lunch, I ate a filling breakfast and so on.
Until the digital numbers flashed 88 pounds in my ugly face, my mom wondered why I was losing so much weight if I was eating. She was clueless of course, until the sickness, and when I couldn’t even keep down soup. She took me to the hospital, and they stuck IV’s all over me, trying to get food into my system. I had become obsessed with weight, and now I was anorexic.
I refused any visitors, even my mom. But she came anyways, just to stare at my lifeless body. I wouldn’t talk to her, I talked to no one. 1, I was too weak. And 2, I didn’t want to, I didn’t want them to hear how stupid I had become. Doing this to myself. It was horrible, and I knew it.
My goal had been to become popular, to become someone that got a wave in the hall once In a while, a wink from a cute guy. Of course, for a few weeks I was pretty, but it became an obsession, the not eating. I wanted to be more skinny, more pretty. But I wasn’t pretty and I couldn’t figure out why.
Until I realized what had happened, and so I tried to reverse it, and nothing happened, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t do anything. So here I lay, on this hospital bed. Warm tears ran sideways from my sallow eyes, that when I thought about it, used to be a pretty golden brown. Now they were watery, and ugly. The feeding tubes weren’t really working, my body was rejecting everything that came in.
That night, while my mother held my bony hand, I died. Mal nourished and miserable. I died a painful and slow death, one that no one should ever have to encounter.
My name was Emily, I was fourteen years old and on the horizon of my life, my name is Emily, I was fourteen years old and fat. But at least I was healthier than I was when I died. I hope that the school kids are happy now, now that they have no one to make fun of.
My name was Emily, and I took my own life because of bullying.
☼ ☀ ☼
Written by
XD_Kiwi-Sorbet_XD
☼ ☀ ☼
※Untitled※
Does it even matter to them anymore? How it makes me feel when they do these things? Do they even stop for a second to think about how it makes me feel? That every time they pull another prank, I’m just one step closer to that deed, just one step closer to home, making this all just disappear. Will they realize what they did then? Realize that making fools of others only results in tragedy? Will they even be sad? I doubt it, they’ll just laugh…laugh, as my coffin is slowly lowered into the ground.
My name is Emily, and I’m fourteen years old. When I was little, I used to eat all the time, whenever I was hungry. My mom would call me her little woman foot-ball player. And I would giggle, it was funny. Me? A foot ball player? I was a little girl, into makeup and purses. I didn’t even think about what my eating habit were doing to my life. My name is Emily, and I’m fourteen years old, I weigh 200 pounds. Although I am tall for my age, and the fat distributes sort of fine, I’m still chunky. And to my friends, it never mattered to them. Until high school, until the word ‘clique’ entered our malnourished minds. They were made fun of for being friends with the human fat-roll. So they ditched me, they ditched me for their own good.
Some friends. Now day’s, they sit with the jocks, popular people, skaters and people that, well aren’t me. I sit alone, usually crying while I eat. People moo sometimes when I pass, I used to ignore it, but that just doesn’t work anymore. And the days in the locker room, when they force me to stand upon their scales as they take videos of the numbers rising and rising.
They don’t care how I feel, they can fit into a size two, why should they care? When they stashed my locker full of rubber pigs, and I cried, they didn’t care. They ate tuna and salad for lunch, why should they care?
So when I stopped eating altogether, they actually noticed. When I hit 125 pounds, I thought I was home free, accepted into the popular people. How wrong was I. What I hadn’t noticed, was that my once pretty skin complexion was turning grey, and the bags under my eyes were deep and purple. Ha, well boy did they notice. I turned into even more of a freak. Where had my life gone wrong?? I made up excuses at dinner, I ate a filling lunch, at lunch, I ate a filling breakfast and so on.
Until the digital numbers flashed 88 pounds in my ugly face, my mom wondered why I was losing so much weight if I was eating. She was clueless of course, until the sickness, and when I couldn’t even keep down soup. She took me to the hospital, and they stuck IV’s all over me, trying to get food into my system. I had become obsessed with weight, and now I was anorexic.
I refused any visitors, even my mom. But she came anyways, just to stare at my lifeless body. I wouldn’t talk to her, I talked to no one. 1, I was too weak. And 2, I didn’t want to, I didn’t want them to hear how stupid I had become. Doing this to myself. It was horrible, and I knew it.
My goal had been to become popular, to become someone that got a wave in the hall once In a while, a wink from a cute guy. Of course, for a few weeks I was pretty, but it became an obsession, the not eating. I wanted to be more skinny, more pretty. But I wasn’t pretty and I couldn’t figure out why.
Until I realized what had happened, and so I tried to reverse it, and nothing happened, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t do anything. So here I lay, on this hospital bed. Warm tears ran sideways from my sallow eyes, that when I thought about it, used to be a pretty golden brown. Now they were watery, and ugly. The feeding tubes weren’t really working, my body was rejecting everything that came in.
That night, while my mother held my bony hand, I died. Mal nourished and miserable. I died a painful and slow death, one that no one should ever have to encounter.
My name was Emily, I was fourteen years old and on the horizon of my life, my name is Emily, I was fourteen years old and fat. But at least I was healthier than I was when I died. I hope that the school kids are happy now, now that they have no one to make fun of.
My name was Emily, and I took my own life because of bullying.
☼ ☀ ☼
Written by
XD_Kiwi-Sorbet_XD
Community Member
It's so horrible. stare