'When She Asked Me Why I Didn't Feel Beautiful'
I said, I am a project.
The kind of mess we left in sixth grade; construction
paper glued to fingers, stuck to desks, uneven scraps below
our feet and gum above our knees. The kind of mess left
behind and kept in mind when the boy who sat next to me
said that I’m a girl he’d never find easy to like.
Because I was always better at handball and scraped knees,
ripped jeans and old tees, because when I got to high school
I thought it was me, when I got to high school it had to be me.
‘Cause he said I would never be easy to like, and now it’s
ironic: no one likes me because I’m not easy, and when I thought
of growing up, I didn’t know to know that there was a ceiling I had
to break through before seeing things from a better view. I have
an aching neck and a breaking back from still trying to be true to
who I am, but they say when we are young, we are mold. So
I said, I am older; and I’ve gone cold.
I tell you, boy, this is such a neat place. I tell people all the time – people don’t get Boston, they really don’t. They don’t understand. And I think you have to be part of it to get it. I really do. I don’t think you can get it from the outside. It’s just a special, different place, and people were born here and raised here and they cheer for their teams, and they love their athletes. And it’s just a great place to be. The best decision I ever made was 10 years ago, when I decided to come. That was the best decision I ever made.
Always text back promptly, even if it’s to let someone down gently. The worst thing you can possibly to do someone is leave them hanging so they can torture themselves with worst case scenarios.
Source attributions for ‘Invisible Child’, a story of homelessness and a changing city.
just read it.
Rebecca Sedwick told her mother she loved her before going to bed that Sunday night, September 8. The next morning, the Lakeland, Fla., 12-year-old was supposed to wake up her 19-year-old sister Summer to do her hair before school. She didn’t. Normally, Rebecca would put on her school uniform, grab her cell phone, and head out the door. But on this morning, Rebecca took out her phone and cleared everything on it, deleting all of the pictures, videos, and texts. She then sent two text messages to friends who lived out of state.
“I’m jumping and I can’t take it anymore,” read one, sent to a 12-year-old boy in North Carolina. The other said, “This is my goodbye for everything.” She then changed her online username from Rebecca to “That Dead Girl” and left her phone on her bed.
At that point, Rebecca would have been running late to catch the 6:45 a.m. bus to Lawton Chiles Middle Academy, where she’d recently started. Instead, she walked down her street, a swampy side road lined with sleepy mobile homes huddled under large willow trees and dangling Spanish moss, and turned right at the peeling McDonald’s billboard advertising an Egg White Delight McMuffin. (“Great taste, all yolks aside.”)
As she walked down Main Street, her aunt drove by. She braked and asked Rebecca if she wanted a ride. Rebecca told her that she was headed to the bus stop, though she had already walked past it. She also wasn’t wearing her school uniform.
I wrote a longread about Ask.fm and suicide and I’m very proud of it. You should check it out if you have time.