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nothing I do could make me better

The voices echo in your head, from their  the words they said earlier in the day, and they stuck. They stuck like the glue that's stronger than super and more than fixable they stick strong enough to make you empty. The words they said on repeat are there they are and you don't why, you don't know why they were said and you don't know if anything or anyone could have stopped them so you blame yourself. You know you gave it your all but they were still there. Slut. Bitch. You have know friends. Nobody likes you. Go away. Stop talking. Just shut up. You heard them all, you heard them as loud as if the world just crumbled in front of your owns eyes. Where every mountain crashed, every sea flooded, and every thing ruined. They weren't going to go away until you let it out. 
     You can't. You can't let anyone know your weak because you don't want anyone to know you have feelings. Is that what it is? Did they ever stop and wonder if you had feelings like they do, or did they know and just do it for fun? What they probably didn't know is how many times they make you cry at night and their names yet you want to hide along with how much emotional damage they caused you. Because you were their science experiment and wanted to see what would happen.
     Soon something did happen. The candle of the story was lit. It was lit so bright and furious it made you think you weren't going to fit in. The ones who they were your friends talked behind your back. It made you look in the mirror and change something. Was it your face, your waist, your smile, your hair, or did you see nothing you just saw you. Were they the reason you threw up after every meal because you didn't look like they did. 
    Then when school started you met the guy. Maybe he was the perfect one, the one who was the star quarter back of the football team, the one who was popular, or maybe he was less than that. You talked every night until two in the morning. Life around you paused because he made you feel special. You smiled a little longer and life seemed a little brighter. You began to like him, really like him, you might have even said it was love. He was your friend. Your best friend but you didn't tell anyone. He made you feel popular and he told you that you were pretty at one point in time. People thought you guys were a love story, a match made in heaven. And then you met her. The little rebel, the girl who hated you for liking him, she knew he was bad, but you were blinded by that bright light that made seem a little brighter. 
     He made you choose. He made you choose her or him. Seven dollars down the drain along with tears that flowed. She showed you all he bad things about him. She dimmed the artificial light, until it was just dark. He distanced. He was then taken by the popular girl who sat by him and English. You weren't mad. You were calm. You let something go for the best.
     A week later you became friends with a different girl. Supposedly the school slut. But you chose to disagree. He called you a slut for being a friend of hers. You got stronger and stronger until you collapsed under stress. The girl became a bad influence the one who once hated him now friends with him and him had broken up with his girlfriend. You would get asked if you dated him, and told he did like you, his friends said he didn't date you because he didn't like your friends he didn't like that you weren't the most popular. 
        You met another one who cut, parents divorced, and a three year old brother basically taken in as her own, given a role of a mother. She didn't really tell why she cut but it made think it made think it was ok. You tried it didn't you? Locking the bathroom door scissors in hand scratch by scratch mark by mark you started to see blood roll down you arm. It made you happy to see the color, but you didn't know what made you think that.  You began to cry each night and couldn't decide who you were better with anymore and where you belong.  But you remember their words one by one. You get flashbacks of their texts.  Now you have know one to talk too, no one to hear your story. You can't fix what you broke but you don't who to balme. But it was because of them. I know that nothing could make me better Han all my effort of what I have to give and nothing more to make me fit in to the puzzle I won't ever be a part of. But I know it was their words that me do it.