The Girl

I was an all-around good kid, someone that everyone liked. I got good grades, I was popular, on the cheerleading squad, and I was known as a leader. I was happy, carefree, and had a positive outlook on life. My positive attitude affected others, and made them happy when they were down. Most people thought of me as the kind of girl that all the guys liked. I sometimes was referred to as a “goody two-shoes” because I never got in trouble, but that didn’t bother me. Not until this year. This school year, I just didn’t feel the same. I had this new feeling, a new outlook on life, and it wasn’t good.

I sometimes felt that everyone expected too much of me. It felt a little like I wasn’t being a good person for myself, but rather for everyone else. It seemed like people just thought I could automatically do well in everything. Most people just don’t realize how hard it is to be so all-around good in everything like I was. The pressure was becoming greater every day, and more and more I longed to be “bad”. I didn’t want to be good anymore.

One day, the pressure I felt was driving me insane. I gave in to my longing to be a “bad kid”. I decided that I would do something rebellious. Not something that would get me in trouble if I was careful enough, not something that would make a huge difference, but something that I knew I shouldn’t do. I ended up stealing a pair of tacky clip-on earrings that I knew I would never wear. That was what most of the small stuff was like that got me going. I was always careful, and never got caught. Later on, the things that I stole got bigger, as I was sure I could always get away with it. I started stealing things like walkmans and expensive clothes. I had to be careful though, that my family never saw me use any of the stuff I had stolen. It was either that, or have a good story ready when they asked where I got it.

During this time, I also started getting in trouble at home and at school. I mouthed off to my parents and teachers, and I was extremely disrespectful. I picked fights over the smallest things. I got expelled for getting into a fight with a fellow student, and throwing a chair at him. For everyone that had known me last year, it was a total 180 degree turnaround from the Christina that they had known before. Everyone except my little brother, that is. He was the only one that couldn’t see where I was headed. My family knew, my friends knew, and my teachers knew, that if I kept on like this, it would lead to jail.

I sunk into a deep depression as I started realizing what I was doing to myself. The depression was so deep that I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think there was any way out, so I got into drugs when stealing and getting in trouble wasn’t enough anymore, thinking that they would help me forget my troubles, and make them go away. Unfortunately, this didn’t help my problems at all. In fact, it made them worse. I went on doing drugs and getting into more trouble until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Last night, as I was feeling especially rebellious, I went out with my best friend, and partner in crime, to a loading dock where we knew that CD’s were being shipped. We stole thousands of them. As we loaded the last of them into my friends truck, a security guard came around. We quickly jumped into the truck and sped away right before he saw us.

When we arrived at my house, it was 12:30 a.m. My parents were asleep, and so was everyone else, or so I thought. We hurried to get my share of the CD’s into my closet before anyone woke up. When we finished, my friend left, and told me to call her in the morning.

As I was in my room, admiring my new collection of CD’s my little brother wandered in. I tried as quickly as I could to hide the CD’s, but he’d already seen them.

“Where’d you get all those?”, he asked.

“I, um... well... I, uh...”, I stammered, unable to come up with a good reason for having them.

“You stole them didn’t you? Does this mean that what Mom and Dad have been telling me is true?”, he asked in a high-pitched, shaky voice, that sounded to me like he was becoming scared and nervous.

“Yes”, I answered simply, feeling guilt beyond belief. I had not been honest with him at all. The whole time, he had idolized me, looked up to me, and he didn’t even know of all the trouble I had been getting into. My parents had tried to tell him, but he’d never believed them. All he could do now was look at me in shame and disbelief.

“Well, I just came in to say good night”, he mumbled in sadness, looking at the floor. He seemed extremely disappointed in me. I didn’t think that someone so young could understand, but he did, and it made me feel more guilty than ever before.

“Just go!”, I cried, “Leave me alone!” I broke down and started sobbing. My brother left. All I can remember thinking about was how sorry I felt and how much I wanted to change everything I had done. I thought that there was no way to change anything, and that I was a hopeless disgrace and shame to my family. I could not figure out what had made me turn on them, and all the friends that had stuck by me through it all, hoping that I would someday come out of my rebellious stage. It’s too bad I never did. I could only think about all the wrong things I had done.

The pressure that I felt then to change my new and not-so-good ways had suddenly seemed like the heaviest burden I’d ever had to carry. My depression was becoming worse every second. It was then that I made my final decision to end my life.

A sense of calmness came over me as I walked to the garage, knowing exactly what I was about to do. It was as if I had done it before. I had second thoughts as I picked up the extension cord and tied a loop in the end of it. Those hesitative thoughts left my mind though, as I stepped up on to a stool and attached the cord to the tracks of the garage door that hung from the ceiling, and I again felt sure of what I was going to do. I stepped up on my father’s car, and slipped my head through the loop. I hesitated only briefly before I stepped off of the car, but I did it.

I will spare you the details that follow, but I will say that right before I died, I wanted desperately to live, not die. Seconds later though, I did die, and it was all over. Now, a few hours later, I am able to see how wrong I was to commit such an act. I’ve been dead for a short time, and I can still remember being welcomed into heaven by the arms of those who were already here in this wonderful place. In just another few short hours, my father will go out to the garage to head to work, and he’ll find me. I’d rather not see his face when he does. I know now what will happen. I can see it all.

The funeral will be planned for Monday. Tonight I will watch my friends as they find out one by one about what happened earlier this morning. I can almost feel their shock and disbelief, their pain and their grief. I can see their faces start to twist as they try not to cry. Please don’t cry. I’m in a much better place now. I’m so sorry that I did what I did. I can see now how much I was really loved. I wish it had been this clear to me a few hours ago.

Starting Friday, there will be viewings of my body going through Monday up until the funeral. I know what everyone will think when they see me. My face will be puffy, and slightly purple and splotchy. So many of them will turn away, not being able to bear it, because I don’t look like myself at all. It’s obvious that I’m not really there.

The funeral will be nice. My grandfather will read my Eulogy, and two very important people from my church will speak. They will tell of great times, and many happy memories. Some of their stories will make people laugh, but it will also be a sensitive, emotional time, when a lot of people will cry.

Later in the day, everyone will head to the cemetery to be there when my father will dedicate my grave. I’ll watch as people drive behind my hearse and my family’s limousine in a funeral procession. Most people’s faces are grim and solemn, knowing that they are about to face the final stage of acceptance, and to leave what seems like their last connection to me, in such a sad place, that they can’t always be.

If there could be only one more minute that I could be with everyone that I know and love, I would tell them to never do what I did. I would also tell my brother that I’m sorry I didn’t say “good night” and “I love you” before I left for good. I would tell everyone to never leave someone without letting them know that you love them, because you never know when they’ll be gone. I would tell them to be comforted, because we will all see each other again some day. Right now, I can only wait. Wait for people to know that everything will be alright.



Name Withheld

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