I am alive now

I am nine years old. My parents hate each other, and they take it out on me. I am afraid to go home every single day. I surround myself in my own imagination. I truly believe that one day, Tinkerbell will come to me and rescue me from my universe. But I am getting older, and I am becoming wiser. I am losing hope that one day, I will fly away to another world. And so I think to myself:

If one more horrible thing happens to me, I am going to kill myself. 

I am twelve years old. My parents are divorced now. My home feels somewhat safe again. But having a friend does not feel like what having a friend should. He yells at me sometimes. I think it is normal. I cannot stand the thought of my friend yelling at me. And so I think to myself:

I kind of want to die right now. 

I am fourteen years old. My problems have gotten better, and worse. My partner wants to die. And I truly believe that it is my fault. My mom does not understand my struggles. She says things to me that hurt more than the time I almost hung myself two days ago. I am frantically trying to apologize to my friend-turned-lover. Because now that they have taken me, he will know that I lied when I assured him that:

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

I am seventeen years old. It has been two years since I got out of the hospital. They put me on medication, so now I can no longer feel. I left him. He was a terrible friend. But now I am lonely.

I want to live, but I don’t know how. 

C is a high-school senior from Massachusetts. After being hospitalized in 2021, he took to creative writing as an outlet for his emotions, seeking to advocate for those who also struggle with their mental health. This is his first published piece. 

A Song for C