I watched emotionless, unable to control it from the continuous motion that was tearing me apart. I no longer associated red with warmth, the sweet spice of a Red Hot, or the sparkly new car I got on my sixteenth birthday. No. Now, it's a raging sea overwhelming my every being. With each strike, released the memories I wanted to erase, the people I wanted gone, and the loneliness that haunted me. So I didn't stop, I let it flow. Weak-kneed and lightheaded, I clenched the countertop unforgivingly; my only existing support. I was left drawn into the eyes of another person. Eyes as cold as the porcelain surrounding me reflected back out of the glass, reminding me of what I've now become. A monster.

I curl up out of my nothing-but-spring mattress already wincing at the pain I've afflicting on myself. I grab my left wrist and squeeze, hoping it will relieve the pain. Instead, it acts only as a temporary Band-Aid, shielding the red from leaking on my bed. I move shakily, trying to get up with all the energy I don't have. But as I take not even three steps towards the bathroom, my knees become magnets that are attracted to the floor underneath me. I try and pull myself up, but the force grows stronger. I take a minute and wait. I let the heavy blankets of my once vibrant eyes slowly sink and sing me a melodic lullaby; taking me away from reality. I let them pull me further and further from my problems and I beg them for some sort of relief. I let them drag me into a place where I can feel a slight sense of happiness, though I knew that was inexistent. I let them lull me to sleep.

When I woke up, I was blinded by an array of orange brightness beaming from my window. Particles of dust stood still above me, revealed from the heavy light rays. I watched carefully, distracting myself from the challenge that was dying to overtake me. Ahead of me lies a normal day, a meaningless routine that drains my unwanted existence. Over a century of time, I unwind myself and hesitantly stretch to my feet. I head to the bathroom, already feeling nauseous, and do my best to try and hide the beast that I've discovered within me.

Me walking into school is like wearing an invisible cloak. No one ever notices me. No one ever talks to me. No one cares at all. It's been that way my whole life. You'd think I'd eventually come to terms with the fact that I'm permanently isolated and alone. You'd think I'd accept it by now and move on, but I haven't. Ask me why. Ask me why I feel this way. Ask me why I don't try harder to make myself happy. Ask me why I choose to live my life like this. Ask, and your questions will remain unanswered. For not even I know the true reason(s) behind this. So how do I "fix" myself? How do I get rid of this angry creature that haunts me daily? Surprisingly, I have an answer. I simply give up. I let it take over and do what it wants. Do you have any idea what it's like to commit to perseverance and still end up worse than you were originally? It's crushing. So no matter how hard I try to move past it, no matter how much I commit, there's still no hope. Well, for me at least.

I focus on the swing of my feet that happens right below me. I step cautiously into the perfectly even tiles that guide me into homeroom and I soften my mind as I notice the variation of blurs. The blur that comes with each step I take, my vision bouncing in all directions. The blur that my mind transforms into, question marks popping up out of nowhere. But most importantly, the blur that hammers my beating heart with every inhale. The constant unsure feeling that overtakes me and numbs me into confusion. As I find an open seat in the back of class, I let my eight-ton backpack drift out of my hands and onto the floor. I then quickly slide into my seat; as I always have.

Mrs. Baker was showcased in all monotone colors, which heavily highlighted the dull grays that streaked through her hair. From her tight topnotch bun, to her thickly weaved laces, Mrs. Baker was as stern as they came. She began class as she always did, moseying her way to the board to write our daily lesson. She turned to us, giving us a lecture over the book we were all supposed to be reading (Moby Dick.) As her voice continued, I watched the words slowly slither off her tongue when she abruptly stopped in mid sentence. Her eyes switched from a focused stare to a warm haze that was pointed in my direction. Our eyes interlocked. An inner spark occurred, awakening my heart from its seeminglessly everlasting coma. I could tell her eyes were reaching out to me, asking if they could help. What was it she noticed? Was I giving myself away? The last thing I needed was negative attention, but what if she had the right intention? Why do I always over think everything? I can't seem to get anything right...as always.

People say to start a new day with a new attitude. They say you should want to wake up each morning and conquer the day. But nope...not me. The walls of this school seem to close in progressively each day. My stomach clenches into knots as I make my way towards Mrs. Baker's room. The unsettled tension of not knowing whether or not she really wanted to help me or only push me away ate me alive. As I turned the cold silver doorknob and pushed the heavy door, I looked up at Mrs. Baker as she looked down. I found my seat as I would any other day and remaining crouched down, I made myself alert of what was about to come. Mrs. Baker didn't seem any different, except for the fact that she wouldn't look me in the eye. She passed out our classwork and I jumped into it thinking today would be like any other, since nothing had happened yet. I tried my best to stay concentrated on the work that was placed before me when I felt the gentle touch of another placed on my shoulder. I immediately knew the soft touch was no other than Mrs. Baker's. She motioned me up and led me outside the classroom to the hallway that was once intimidatingly lonely but now as hopeful as its meaning let it be. Shakily, I waited for her to begin her prologue telling me how I should feel because I'm only in high school and have so much ahead of me. I waited for her to repeat the phrases that have crawled into my ears time and time again by a countless number of people who tried to "help". But she didn't. She grabbed my hand with her heart and didn't let go. She raised my sleeves to find what she knew was there and uncovered scars that the monster left me with. The proof of my defeat and the trophy of the monster. Her hand formed a tighter grip on mine and as I looked up, I noticed small ponds forming in her hazel eyes. How did she know my scars were there? With eye contact everlasting, she told me that she was on my side and was not going anywhere. And that fulfilled me for now...motivation for this day. It felt kind of nice, but I knew I didn't deserve it.

Scenarios formed a replaying cycle in my head. It's not like the encounter with Mrs. Baker didn't mean the world me. In fact, it meant more than the world to me. More than my world. More than she would ever know. But how could I be so selfish? It was because of me that those tears formed in her eyes. It was because of me that she had to worry about someone. I was inflicting her sorrow when I was just trying to get out of my own. I don't think she understood that...that was the hardest part. Now it's not only about myself. No longer am I only helping myself by ending it all, but I am now making it easier for others. I'm taking away the burden I've caused that they shouldn't have to bear. I'm taking away the inconvenience of my presence to ensure an easier life for all. I'm letting the monster win. But would I really be helping Mrs. Baker? Or would I be stirring yet again even more trouble? These are the questions that linger in my mind as I'm contemplating my last punches at the monster. It was inevitable from the beginning wasn't it? A girl cannot possibly beat a monster.

But what if she could? What would it take for the girl to completely demolish that monster? Is it even truly possible? Well, let’s think. Maybe if she had a friend to rely on, things would be different. Maybe if she had parents who cared desperately enough to get her help, she wouldn’t be stuck like this. Maybe if someone took the time of day to reach out to her, she would have a different mindset. And maybe if she knew her importance in the world, she would keep trying. But that girl is me. She has none of those things and she’ll never fight rigorously enough to rid herself of the monster.