Hey you're in for a treat today. I'm posting something I forgot I even started trying to find a follow up book for Never Eighteen. So far, it's simply titled Sad. I warn you, this excerpt is rated "R" by my own standards. Tell me what you think. (not edited at all btw)
I’ve often wondered what it would be like to sink down into the tub, lay there for a moment or two, resurface, then take a razor blade to my wrists and bleed out. How much would it hurt? Would the blood trickle or spurt? How quickly would I die? And who would find me? I’d hope it would be my sister, the heinous bitch, always prancing around like she’s god’s gift or something, when she’s really just a cheerleading hobag that’s had more wiener in her than the Oscar Meyer factory.
It’s not that I want to die; the idea just fascinates me. I’m not brave enough to kill myself even though I’ve grown accustomed to pain. Sometimes I wish I just wasn’t. You know, didn’t exist. But the cold hard fact of life is this, I do exist, and that, I just have to deal with no matter how fucked up and crazy it may seem.
I don’t remember having a particularly miserable childhood. I had it pretty good really. Doctor dad, stay at home mom, brother, sister, and a dog named Chewy for good reason. Sometimes that doesn’t matter I guess, having it good, I mean. Sometimes our heads are
...just messed up or they get there along the way somehow.
The first time I remember feeling desolate and alone was in eighth grade. I went into the cafeteria bathroom and cried for no reason. People came in; I told them I wanted to kill myself. I have no idea if I really wanted to or not. I think sometimes it’s just something we say when we feel lost, at least when we’re young because we don’t understand our emotions. Those who entered the restroom consoled me, cheered me, and it was done with. I’m sure I had my ups and downs after that, but don’t remember any until high school when my best friend slept with my boyfriend. Some friend, huh?
David and I met in English class. Well, technically, that’s where I became totally obsessed with him. He sat right in front of me, tall, dark hair and eyes, a smile like something you’d see in a Da Vinci painting. And he was quiet. So quiet that it intrigued me.