I Smile

Hey, I am Sara. I don't even know where to start. I guess... I'll start at the beginning.

When I was in second grade, kids started to realize I was different then them. Personality-wise. I was energetic, constantly moving my hands, not giving a damn as to what anyone thought of me. But, I was a machine. I kept moving, barely reacting to pain, hardly sleeping yet never acting tired. I lived my life my way, in color with noise and as creatively as possible.

The only thing is, kids don't like different.

That was around the time the bullying started. I was shoved in the hall, tripped at recess, beat around. I didn't really care. It was around that time I began to say to myself that pain made me stronger. I'd take it in with a grin. The lack of response must've irritated the other kids, I suppose, because that was around the time the emotional bullying started.

Kid teased me for just about everything. I listened to rock and jazz instead of pop and stuff like that, I read a lot, I learned at a high school level, I didn't hate anything. Anything they learned about me was new ammo for them. They left notes in my desk, wouldn't let me play with them at recess, ignored me or just hated me in general. At the time, I didn't know why no one liked me. I just thought that it was the way things were supposed to be, so I dealt with it. I never wiped that grin off my face. Eventually they got sick of my lack on my response, and by fourth grade kids just stopped. No one stood up for me, but that was fine. I was cool with that.

At sixth grade, the health problems kicked in. I knew kids still talked about me behind my back, but that didn't matter. I didn't do stuff like that, so it just meant I was better than them. But... I never had the best health. I couldn't run very much because of asthma, even though I loved it anyways. I started getting sick constantly. Colds, the flu, it was always something. I had to work extra hard in school because I was always so sick. Around the middle of the year, I caught mono. My parents didn't know what to do, and frankly didn't care, so they made me get up every day at five and let me deal with the exhaustion my own way. Eventually that faded, and another problem popped up. I started getting incredibly sick whenever I ate. A year of pain, nausea, blood tests and an upper & lower GI later, we found out I had a few stomach ulcers.

So I smiled and took the medicine and was okay.

During this entire ordeal, I also had to help my mom deal with my sister's depression, slight OCD and anxiety, my dad's neck surgery and school. I learned to cook my own food and clean up after myself. I was fine with that. I try to help lift my sister's depression, reassure her there is nothing to worry about. I do everything my Dad used to, moving and lifting heavy things, keeping the family safe. I help my mom around the house since my Dad and sister can't.

And I smile and laugh and wait for tommorow to come.

But then the nightmares came.
I always have had nightmares. Who hasn't? I always was able to freak my parents out just by telling them about them, that's how disturbing they were and still are. Through the nightmares I have and my parents explanations of them, I learned bu the time I was six what cannibals, serial killers, murder, rape, kidnapping, torture and sacrifice is I have had and still have nightmares about them all. Lately they have been getting worse. I have nightmares every night, vivid and loud and incredibly realistic. They wake me up every night. I can go weeks at a time without sleep, just because of how often they wake me up. I've told my parents, but what can they do about it? They're not going to take me to a doctor. They are certain there is nothing wrong with me, so why should they?

But I laugh and dance and live my life without sleep. I don't cry, no matter how scared I get or how badly I end up hurting. Actually, I haven't cried since I was seven. I'm a teenager now. I don't cut, I don't want suicide and I refuse to let myself become depressed. I don't let myself break, or lose it, as much as I want to. I tell myself that pain will make me stronger, the same way I used to when I was little.

And I smile.

You should do the same. It makes life- no matter how hard it gets- seem that much brighter.
MyOwnWorstNightmare MyOwnWorstNightmare
13-15, F
Nov 27, 2012