Dead

I wrote this essay as an assignment for an English class. The prompt was "Any aspect of what it means to be human." This is the final draft of that essay, and the lyrics at the beginning are from Shedding Tears. It's just a little bit of history. This is

“…Does anyone hear me, screaming for dear life? --So hard to hear, so easy to ignore --The freak beside you --Shedding tears….” I wrote these lyrics in 2007, and posted them on the internet for the world to see.  I wanted the world to realize that there is more to me, as with everyone, than meets the eye. I have always felt as kind of a freak, outcast, oddball, whatever term you want to use, because I’ve always been told I’m different. Doesn’t matter who I talk to, the general consensus would appear to be that I am something other than average.
My peers in elementary school thought I was too smart, a showoff, with the state of mind that I was better than everyone else. So I was teased, ridiculed, and targeted by bullies. Looking back, I probably made them feel inferior. The truth of the matter is I love to learn, and I was trying to rush the teachers into going forward with new material. Even then, I knew that there is a vast commonwealth of knowledge just waiting to be devoured by those who wish to learn the secrets of the universe and times untold.  My lust for knowledge set me aside from the other students, even those who were also considered smarter than the rest of the general population of elementary students.
The torrent of pressure came from everyone I knew at that point in my young life. These phrases never left my mind for long, always swirling around in the back of my thought processes. The adults in my life have always told me
“You’re perfect”…
“…they’re just jealous, don’t pay any attention to them”…
“You’re so accomplished at such a young age…”
“I bet you’re following your mother’s footsteps” and it never seems to just…
STOP
There have been points in my life where I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs “I’M NOT DIFFERENT, I’M NOT SPECIAL, GO AWAY!” but instead I would nod my head and smile. I felt like I was under a constant pressure to be the best, to live up to the expectation of being smart, and special, and different. But therein lies the problem….different. I don’t want to be considered a freak of nature, and quite frankly, I don’t know anyone who does.
After elementary school, I transferred to a different district for seventh and eighth grades. I thought to myself, this is going to be a fresh start. No one knows me here. I can recreate myself. I can fit in here. No sooner than I’d convinced myself that this was the start of a new chapter, my heart dropped. Right in front of me stood my two best friends from my old school; the only two people in the world who could tolerate my odd love of learning. I was frozen. My heart stopped, my breath caught in my chest, and I felt the tears welling in my eyes. It seemed as if the gods wanted to torment me.  They had dangled a fresh start in my face and taken it all away in a single instance. This was to be a continuance of the life I thought I’d left behind me.
It was the duration of these two years that I began to find myself. To escape everything, I began exploring other religions, and I discovered the world of Tarot, Astrology, and Wicca. It seemed I had a gift with the cards, and an affinity with all of the elements (Water, Fire, Earth, Air, and Spirit). I began to search my memory, the subconscious part of the mind that is believed to hold knowledge of all the lifetimes of a single spirit, and found myself to have quite a history. When I attempted to discuss this with my two best friends, they looked at me as though I had gone from freak to borderline insane. They soon became less than friendly, and I was alone in the world. If there is one feeling that tells you that you have hit rock bottom, it is the incredible sadness that seeps into your bones; it comes with the knowledge that you are completely and utterly alone, with no hope of ever changing that state. I believe this is when I became depressed, though I was never formally diagnosed.
My depression deepened with time, and my life seemed to become a black-hole. All I cared about was my books, my music, and my newfound belief system. I have attempted suicide no less than five times, and the first was when I was completely alone. My mother was working late, wouldn’t be home until after bedtime. I was home alone, standing in my kitchen. I pulled out the big knife, silver tip gleaming as though it held some sort of bloodlust, and held it above my wrist….frozen in time. The only tell-tale sign was the constant ticking of the clock. My thoughts flew at me a mile a minute, everything happening at once. No one loves me, no one would care if I was gone, why should I live when, clearly, everyone wants me dead? I raised the knife and gently pressed the tip of it to my skin, lightly enough that nothing happened. I was about to press deeper when my thoughts erupted. What would happen to mom? Would she cry, blame herself? Or would she even notice? What about Grandma? This could give her another heart attack. She’s already lost Grandpa…Grandpa. What would he think of me right now? I would see him again, on the other side…but he would hate me. I know he would. And that is what stopped me in my tracks. I lifted the knife, opened the drawer, and stuck it back in place, no one the wiser. The thought of my grandfather looking at me with complete and utter disgust, as I knew he probably would, was the only force intense enough to save my life.
The aftermath of that particular episode are fuzzy to me, it was like I was living in a hazy fog so thick that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. I was despondent in my classes, wouldn’t talk to anyone, nor would I respond to any remarks. I just went through the rest of that week, and possibly through the next, as though I were the walking dead. And that is precisely how I felt inside. Dead. I wasn’t me. Usually, I’m a very empathetic person, but not then. I could not feel, think, or even care. It wasn’t a choice or a decision…it was a state of mind. The state of being
Dead.

Author's Note

This took a lot out of me, so critique is welcome so long as it is about the essay itself, not my personal experience. There is a distinction.