Today

6:52 am. She looks into the mirror, tugs a strand of hair behind an ear, and sighs. Yet another day. Walking to the bus, she grabs a muffin for the ride, and steadies herself for the onslaught that she knows will come. She settles into her seat at the very back and watches as others stream on, laughing and smiling, all ready for another day. She pulls the ear buds from her pockets, undoes the neatly coiled wires, and switches on her music.

Today is your day.

She stares out the window, sees cars passing by and a few joggers on their morning workout. She wonders what their lives are like. Where are they going? What do they have planned for the day? What are their stories? She smiles as she sees a couple, the guy’s arm casually draped around the girl’s shoulders. She closes her eyes for a while and imagines how perfect their lives might be. Pretty soon the bus driver is yelling at her to get off, and she does so, slowly and reluctantly. As she heads to her first class, she pauses in front of the doors and steels herself. She switches up the music and walks in.

Today is your day.

And immediately, the names start. Loser. Hey freak! She tries to ignore them. She knows they aren’t right. They can’t be right.

You deserve a chance to shine.

But throughout the day, it gets a little harder to not care. Notes scribbled on her desk. You’re worthless. A letter in her locker. Everyone would be better off without you. And the words flung at her, pounding, pounding in her head. Disgrace. Selfish. Hopeless. And she turns her music up louder, trying to drown out the voices, the voices telling her that she’s a waste of space, a sorry excuse for a human being. It can’t be true, it can’t be. She does well in school, she tries to help others, she’s a good person – she is, right? – so they can’t be right. Remember, you don’t deserve anything you’ve been given.

You knew that you deserved it ‘cause you’ve been through a whole lot.

And she’s glad to be back on the bus, back in her world, staring out the window. She loses herself in the lives of others, making up stories for the people she sees outside, making their lives so much, so much better than hers.

‘Cause you knew there’d be a day you’d have your way.

But she goes back home to the same type of hell. How are you so stupid? A tear falls down her face as she works on her calculus homework. You’re a disappointment to everyone around you. And she locks herself in her room, shuts out the world, blasts music so loud it’s almost loud enough to hide her own thoughts.

Even in your own home it’s a battle zone, ‘cause everything you did wasn’t good enough for them.

And she fights those battles, a brave soldier, journeying on despite her wounds, these gaping holes in her heart where those harsh words cut to her soul. But she keeps on going, bleeding, bleeding, just trying to keep her head high, a smile on her face.

You’re smiling on the outside but inside it’s cold.

And she curls up in her bed at 2 am, making herself as small as possible among fluffy blankets and stuffed animals. And she cries, tears streaming down her face, staring through the window at the moon, trying to find the serenity that was the norm a few years ago.

And you prayed every night hoping for a better day.

And when she finally falls asleep, her dreams are peaceful. In them, she’s accepted, and loved, and happy with her place in the world.

But come morning, those dreams are shattered. Her eyes flicker open and after a few minutes staring at the blank white ceiling, she drags herself out of bed to face the world once more.

And that’s why you’re amazing, you never gave up.

But after a while, hours, days, weeks, months, she does give up. She cuts herself down, she believes those voices, and with the same determination that she approached every day hoping for a better day, that night she decides it’s not worth it.

The choice is yours so now or never.

And in the morning, she’s gone.

And at her funeral, everyone cries. Her friends, her family, her teachers, mentors, coworkers. And yes, they had called her things, but they called her beautiful, and kind, smart and selfless. They called her a role model, their role model. They told her she was a wonderful person, that she was going places, that she was always so positive. They told her what a great friend she was. They told her how lucky and how blessed they were to know her, and how she had a beautiful soul. They told her how they admired her willingness to help others. And they saw the smile on her face since it brought smiles to their own, and they loved her happiness and energy. They told her how they loved her.

And they all cried because none of them saw it coming. Her only tormentor was herself. Each and every one of those voices was in her head. Each and every one of those voices was her own.

And as the only song on her playlist played in the background, everyone looked to the sky.

You look good up top from down below.