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My parents don’t know about what I deal with when it comes to being in the public eye. I’m alone in it. I don’t tell anyone it bothers me. I simply grit my teeth and smile.
Showing off the perfect veneer, allowing those who taunt and torment to watch you shine bright is the only thing I’ve been taught. So, instead of allowing the pain to take hold of and crush me, I slide on a mask, and allow the public to see the lie.
But there are times, like tonight, where I’m alone with my thoughts, and anything could set me off.
Sighing, I stand before slipping my phone into the pocket of my shorts, and I make my way down the staircase which leads to the entrance hall. From there, I pad barefoot into my dad’s office and find the bottle of shimmering, copper-colored liquid and pour a double shot into one of his tumblers.
You’re so fucked up.
Why do people even like you?
I choke down the alcohol and pray it helps just a bit. Most times when I steal my father’s whiskey or brandy, I can quiet the voices that bring about negative thoughts, but tonight, they’re particularly evil. They’re all real, though, every opinion, each declaration that plays like an echo in my mind comes from an actual person on the other side of a screen.
Every comment has turned into a voice, a vocal wound hitting right through me. Their words have become my normal. I’ve come to believe what they say. And I can’t stop it because they’re right. I am convinced they are. Perhaps that’s what they’re trying to do, and I’m allowing them to win. Fighting it is no longer an option; it’s too difficult.
You should just stop breathing.
You’re nothing but a fucking waste of space.
I fill the glass once more and slowly sip on the fiery liquid. It burns its way down my throat, twisting in my stomach like a tornado about to explode through every inch of me. And I welcome it. I flick open my screen, opening the app that’s brought me the pain, the heartache, the agonizing knowledge that I’m whatever they call me. I scroll through the comments. It’s something my shrink told me to refrain from doing, but I can’t stop myself.
Fake princess.
Pretentious bitch.
Gag, you’re so fucking fake it’s gross.
Disgusting whore.
Why don’t you come show me what those lips can do?
Just die.
Kill yourself already.
The words blur into nothingness, and the pain grips my heart, more fire licking against my throat as I swallow the last of the drink and make my way upstairs. The memory of my father lying to my face is still fresh in my mind, and that piled on top of the words from my so-called fans, all takes a toll.
I want to fight the dark thoughts which attempt to take over me.
But I also want to hide and never come out.
If they don’t see me, perhaps they can’t hurt me. But I know there’s no way I can disappear, because my mother will never allow it. She enjoys the attention, craves it. It’s as if she basks in it because it’s her way of being validated for who she is. But I’m not the same.
We’ve always been different. Even when I was younger, I would want to stay in while she preferred going out. At times, it feels as if I was born into the wrong family because despite the fact that I’m lucky enough to have a good dad, one who loves me, my mother and I, we’ve never seen eye to eye.
I turn from the office, leaving everything as I found it, and head back upstairs. The silence of the house is deafening. There are times I enjoy it, but tonight, it’s particularly lonely.
When I reach my bathroom, I pull open the cabinets to find what I need. Just die. The words ring in my ears as my heart thuds against my chest.
I stare down at the little bottle that I set with trembling hands on the counter. The smooth marble below the bright orange container is a stark contrast to each other. Just like me and mom.
Tears burn my eyes as the alcohol sloshes inside me. It’s as if I can feel every drop as it mixes with my blood. The burn of it still in my throat. For a moment, I think I’m going to puke, but I don’t.
Thankfully, I swallow back the lump in my throat and focus on what I need to do. I’ve toyed with the idea for so long, and now it finally feels like the plan is falling into place. I’ve read up on the heartbreaking stories of teens who chose death instead of life. I’ve never been one to seek it out, but over the past while, it’s been playing on repeat in my mind.
