Paralyzed

Enjoy x

I tried everything to make myself feel better. I searched through libraries, across the internet, trying to find something to relate to, to live through.But there was nothing. Not A Thing... My friends abandoned me. They were bored of carrying my books, pushing my wheelchair. They knew it wouldn't last forever, and still they left. Normal me wasn't enough of a reward for having to put up with different me. The one needed help for EVERYTHING! A stranger to those people who knew the me who was a fighter, who didn't let anything stand in her way. The one who never cried, beat up guys who hurt her, stabbed back stabbers back. I had changed. But no, it wasn't my fault. However hard they tried to convince me it was, I knew it wasn't. ' Cause I knew it was yours. You were the first to hurt me. I cared TOO much, see. I would stay awake, night after night, worrying of what you thought of me, worrying about whether you would stay by my side. And no. I'm not a stupid teenager writing of a broken heart and an ex boyfriend. I am a teenaged girl writing of a ex friend... and a broken body.

It all started at my first day at the new school, I guess. I was the usual, scrunched shoulders, looking down, scared of all the big kids that tumbled out the buses before us. You were standing next to me. You didn't look scared, you were one of the only ones who didn't... you looked... excited even, glancing around your surroundings, and giggling with the seniors. I was scared of that, you were different. I attached myself to you though, cause that was what I did then. I grabbed the closest leader, who would help me through the day, and not question my actions.That was you. You welcomed me happily enough, inviting me into your conversations, and soon we became inseparable. But still I worried. You started to hang out with the 'cooler' kids, and I could tell you didn't care as much what I thought of you, as I did. I didn't really have any other friends, except you. You just seemed to always be there to make me feel better. When I was feeling down you'd tell me I was awesome, the best friend you could ask for. But I guess I knew all along that was a lie, a lie to get me to stop complaining to you.

A few years after that first fateful meeting, we were still 'best' friends. And you still hung out with those 'cool' kids, who hated me. I did question you, a thousand times, but you always shot me down, saying that I was over thinking things, and that they all loved me as much as you did.
'How couldn't they?' you said. I thought that over too. I knew I over thought things, I had all my life, but I knew I was right about this. And I was. After the summer, when we came back to school, you ignored me, talking only to the ones you said cared for me as much as you. You were right about that. Cause you didn't care for me either. I soon relented to only staying in the library during lunches and breaks, for that was one place I could be alone and become immersed in someone else's life and problems. Once I started reading, all my troubles seemed to go away. The main heroine's were far more important and threatening.  But my life couldn't just be some sort of fairytale like that. So I went outside at lunchtimes and walked about. Everyone still ignored me, like I was still that new school girl that only one person cared for. Except now, nobody did.

I knew I had problems, I knew I was far to anxious about meeting new people to survive on my own. So I talked to people. Online, no one knew me. I went to childline, talked to them. They just told me what I already knew;
'Find new friends, ignore them... go see a teacher, your parents maybe.'
But I couldn't. I was just that kind of person. I couldn't bother people with my problems, they were probably already finished off with there's. So I stayed the same. Reading, writing, walking, lonely. When I got home one day, I couldn't take it anymore. I went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a box of pills. I didn't know what they were, but I knew an over dose of pretty much anything should kill me. So I took them. 10 to be exact.

When my mum came home from work she found me there, lying on the floor. She rushed me to hospital, where they did all they could. I was alive, and my mother was happy for it. I wasn't. They told us I would never regain use of my legs or arms. They gave me a wheelchair, and some antibiotics and antidepressants, and after three days, I was home. I was sent to see counselors once every three days, and someone had to keep a watch on me at all times. I was wheeled about everywhere, and I could hardly hear my own head anymore. I was sent to school.

Everyone was interested in me now, everyone wanted to be my new best friend, as it is when you're injured. And they all wanted to know what happened. I faked not being able to speak to stop them from asking. After a few weeks of excitement, they went away. I was alone again, and that was now how I liked it. So you see, it wasn't my fault. It was yours all along. You were a bad omen since the moment I met you, and you stayed one through my life. You paralyzed me.And I hope you feel guilty.