Bullying = Suicide
By: Pamela L. Wiley
May 18, 2010
This is a letter written by a young girl who was bulled all her life.
(Not a true story but one that has happened over and over again)
I am writing this letter to tell you that I am gone. I can’t take it anymore. Everyone is so mean to me. Just because I’m different, it’s not right and it hurts, my heart hurts …
Every day I would come home and cry. I know you could hear me, yet you did nothing to stop it …
Their words cut me deep and the scars kept getting bigger. It hurt so much; I just wanted it all to stop. This was the only way to stop it from hurting …
I took some pills today. They seemed to have numbed the pain. But I can still feel the scars, pulsating behind my chest. There waiting to bust open again …
The pills aren't working anymore, please make it stop. I saw a girl with cuts on her wrists, maybe that will help numb the pain … I couldn't do it, it hurt too much …
Today a kid pushed me against my locker and laughed at me. Why did he do that? I didn't do anything to him …
No one’s home, I can’t talk to anyone. No one would understand; they don’t know how I feel … Maybe I can stop the pain …
I took dads six pack of beer from the refrigerator … and I found the rope in the garage …
I took the chair and placed it in my closet … I took the noose and placed it over my head tightening the knot …
I kicked the chair from underneath my feet and dropped … It only hurt for a second and then everything went dark …
I miss you all but I had to do it …
Monday, July 25, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Writing Experiments
Gold Shoots!
A writing experiment that I did when I took creative writing. A revised version of what happened when I found out that my Grandmother had passed away.
__________________________________________________________
Gold shoots into my room as the sun begins to set. I wake from my nap feeling grateful that I didn’t have school the next day. I ran down the hall but was met with two sad eyes. My father pulls me into a hug as he starts crying. He sets me down on the torn junkyard chair that sits in the living room. He composes himself down and tells me that he just got a call. My grandmother who had been fighting cancer for a long time had passed away in her sleep. At first I couldn’t put it together, I guess I was trying to be strong, but then a painful lump formed in the back of my throat and my eyes began to water. A single tear fell onto my arms which were crossed along my stomach. Then as if someone had punched me across the face I screamed and cried till I couldn’t breathe. My grandmother was dead just five days after we celebrated Christmas; just a few moments after we had left from seeing her; a few moments after I told her I loved her, after I told her that I would see her tomorrow, after I told her goodbye.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
If I were …
Another writing experiment that we did in creative writing.
________________________________________________________
If I were an Eagle with a bad eye …
Standing on the edge of the twenty foot cliff I could feel the breeze flutter through my wings. My mind wandered to my family who had left me alone to die. My birth was a miracle I heard my mother say a lot to my father.
“She’s too weak.” My father would reply with a voice of an ancient Indian Chief.
I could hear my brothers and sisters playing happily but with the forbidden sight in my left eye mother would not let me play.
I remember the air changing from warm to cool.
“We must leave.” I heard my father saying.
“But what about her, she won’t be able to fly.” My mother’s voice was sharp, hardened by something I couldn’t see.
“We have to go.” My father said sternly.
And with a sad look in my mother’s face my family was gone. I was left alone to fend for myself, to die.
Many moons had passed the seasons changed and so did my home and so did I. I had survived, teaching myself to fly so that I could search for the family that had abandoned me. I would show them, make them see that I didn’t need them, that with just one eye I survived death.
A writing experiment that I did when I took creative writing. A revised version of what happened when I found out that my Grandmother had passed away.
__________________________________________________________
Gold shoots into my room as the sun begins to set. I wake from my nap feeling grateful that I didn’t have school the next day. I ran down the hall but was met with two sad eyes. My father pulls me into a hug as he starts crying. He sets me down on the torn junkyard chair that sits in the living room. He composes himself down and tells me that he just got a call. My grandmother who had been fighting cancer for a long time had passed away in her sleep. At first I couldn’t put it together, I guess I was trying to be strong, but then a painful lump formed in the back of my throat and my eyes began to water. A single tear fell onto my arms which were crossed along my stomach. Then as if someone had punched me across the face I screamed and cried till I couldn’t breathe. My grandmother was dead just five days after we celebrated Christmas; just a few moments after we had left from seeing her; a few moments after I told her I loved her, after I told her that I would see her tomorrow, after I told her goodbye.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
If I were …
Another writing experiment that we did in creative writing.
________________________________________________________
If I were an Eagle with a bad eye …
Standing on the edge of the twenty foot cliff I could feel the breeze flutter through my wings. My mind wandered to my family who had left me alone to die. My birth was a miracle I heard my mother say a lot to my father.
“She’s too weak.” My father would reply with a voice of an ancient Indian Chief.
I could hear my brothers and sisters playing happily but with the forbidden sight in my left eye mother would not let me play.
I remember the air changing from warm to cool.
“We must leave.” I heard my father saying.
“But what about her, she won’t be able to fly.” My mother’s voice was sharp, hardened by something I couldn’t see.
“We have to go.” My father said sternly.
And with a sad look in my mother’s face my family was gone. I was left alone to fend for myself, to die.
Many moons had passed the seasons changed and so did my home and so did I. I had survived, teaching myself to fly so that I could search for the family that had abandoned me. I would show them, make them see that I didn’t need them, that with just one eye I survived death.
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