Chapter 1: Azura
Sometimes at midnight, for hours on end, I gaze out the windows of my room, trying and trying to feel the light beaming through the shattered glass that separates us. It makes me wonder—why do the stars glow so vibrantly? The stars, shimmering passionately, always light up that cruel dark sky after light recedes from the world. The darker the night seems to become, the more luminous they seem to turn.
I am the opposite. At night, I break, I shatter, just like the glass had shattered when I struck it first. I give up all hope.
Welcome. Sit back, stay awhile, and pay attention. Because this is the story of how it all happened.
Someone asked me once, “What would you like to be when you grow old?”
“A star.” And I didn’t mean the famous ones.
We all have our demons: some are bullies; some are addicts; some hurt themselves; some never eat. Some are all of them.
What does it take for someone to slice up their heart? What does it take to never eat food, as though they don’t even deserve it? What does it take to overdose? What does it take to want to live no more?
The world is being turned upside down and twisted in so many directions, you don’t even know where to turn. It’s your friends who make you feel completely alone. It’s your parents who make you feel as though you’re just a disappointment. It’s your sister who tells you, “Your life is perfect compared to the fucked-up world I live in,” when she doesn’t know the harm you cause yourself when the sun goes down. Everything—even the good—feels utterly wrong. You want to numb the pain, so you cut yourself. You want to torment yourself because you deserve it; so you starve. You want to never wake up, so you take many pills each and every night and hope to never see the sun.
You want to relieve those around you from your torturous presence, so you plan your death.
I have battled the demons.
Struggling for my freedom, I tried to pry myself loose from the grip of the claws of the monsters. I begin to ask myself, “What’s the point? What’s the point of fighting back?” And the voice responds, “There is none.” So I let them take hold. I let them pull me back. I let them win.
I never imagined it’d be this way, never imagined that I’d let those voices finally get to me, never thought I would let my soul be brutally murdered by my demons.
Their hands wouldn’t stop pulling me back as I tried and tried to walk towards the bus, Cat and her gang of ruffians. They seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at all. Oh, they knew my worst fear was missing the bus. Oh, they knew. Did it stop them? No. Why would it? I’m nothing.
Each and every day I would make it, barely. And each and every day I hardly won the battle within myself.
Private schools were the worst. Always had to have your shirt tucked in, always had to have your hair tied back behind your head, and always were there those who made you hate who you were and everything you lived for.
“You should watch your weight.”
“She’s the most retarded girl!”
I’ve been told to slice my skin and end my life.
You know what honey? I’m sorry for you. If you ever need help to cope, you can always reach out to me, pumpkin.
I told you. Too nice.
I had two best friends since I was just a little girl. Two best friends who meant the world. But one day in middle school I was the third wheel. I was cut off. They did everything together, and what of me? Every day at recess would they discuss their writing. Without me.
I wondered to myself, “What is wrong with me? Why do they dislike me so? Was it because I was fat? Was it because I was a flat-out loser?” Certainly not so, but how could I know when I was so ever blind?
Soon, I began to arrive home and eat out my pain, eat out all the suffering I felt, and yes, I began to gain significant weight. For some time, I didn’t even care, but that did not stop the voices.
But let’s not start there.
