Path Least Traveled

When we are children, we are told that there are no losers; that we're all winners, even if you come in last place. 

"You're not a loser, you're just the last winner," they'd tell us, and we'd smile in our accomplishments; we'd celebrate with all the other kids because we, too, finished the race in which nobody lost. 

But as we grow, we learn that we have to play sports or be smart or be pretty in order to accomplish anything in our lives; and we begin to assimilate that we just don't have what it takes to be of any worth to the world or to the people around us. At least, that's what our peers would tell us. 

"Kids will be kids" is what the adults would retort, dismissing our broken hearts and bruised bodies. But they don't understand that our world is shaken by all the negative forces that batter upon us until we find ourselves to believe every single adjective and definition that people throw upon us. We become so downtrodden and miserable that we are reluctant to reach up and grasp the stars that we see before our eyes, because the entire world has told us that we are not worthy enough to extend our grip to the heavens. And we grow up to believe that we are tragedy; soulless bodies designed to walk through a life that we were given but means nothing.

But, they say these are the best years of our lives. 

The best years of our lives are filled with thoughts that are not our own. Visions invade our minds until they possess us, and we begin to understand why we're called ugly, fat, skinny, snaggle-tooth, retard - and every pore in our bodies scream at us for our flaws until our lives end, slowly or rapidly; pills, starvation, razor blades, or handguns. We are given lives that we don't deserve; lives that we did not choose but endured.

So, those who bequeathed us that life act surprised and heartbroken when they realize one of their peers elected to end their own life. They wear t-shirts and wrist bands and frowns at our funerals, pretending - tricking even themselves into thinking they cared. They will blame it on depression and heavy metal music, but never on the hatred that inhabits their hearts. "We were friends," they will utter with broken voices through tears, "I can't believe (s)he is gone."

We walk this earth with so much anger and contempt that we surmise that bloodshed is the only antidote to our pain, but if we even dare to lift a gun to protect whatever dignity that we have left, we are deemed psychopathic, broken, unfit for society. Words are okay, but bullets are forbidden. After all, people don't kill people... only monsters do, right? 

But no one ever stops to think that words are more deadly than a bullet. They enter our minds and shred it until there's nothing left but misery. Words kill more often than bullets, but they merely go unnoticed. Every single day, children trudge home through an ocean of injury and opt to take their own lives because they can no longer manage the pain. Do not lie to yourself that bullets hurt more than words, because at least a bullet is a quick release.

But it doesn't have to be this way, I promise.

Our lives follow interesting paths. When doors close and worlds end, something new is created; a path that we might never have considered before. I could have easily become a monster because I am one of the broken ones; I will live with the scars that inhabit my shattered psyche and fractured heart. I will smile even when I'm melancholy, and I will always be "decent" when someone asks. I have witnessed my share of doors closing in my face, and I've hated myself for it. But I've learned that I am not worthless. My life is not defined by the number of times my mind has attempted to repair itself after every barrage of abuse; I reach for the stars every night and am even able to clutch a few. I smile out of happiness without biting my tongue to hide it, because I've learned that it is okay to be happy. And yes, I may fall from time to time - I may have flashbacks of the war I fought in my past, but I will not let it expound me.

Every fiber of my existence is grateful that I never pulled the trigger.

Reviews

[Jamestown]

Amazing writing, I too am happy to have had the chance to read this. My kids
attend Columbine high and this brought back some memories, wow! I will pray for you
and others that are dealing with some of these same issues you spoke of. Thanks for sharing!

[Antichrist]

Thank you for your words and prayers. I no longer deal with these issues - I've long since graduated high school and moved on with my life, but it still affects me to this day, as it does many people who have experienced or are experiencing it. People do not realize what words can do. Self-esteems that are broken are often irreparable. Best of luck to you and your children.