Memoirs
of a Troubled Teen
The Following is a Blog post by 16 yr
old Zachery Groff.
...
Friday night
like always is the night when the so call “Cool Kids” snuck out of their rooms
through their bedroom window and scale the confiding walls of their homes to go
“hang” with their friend’s and by that I mean go drink, snort, inject and
whatever other illegal actives that needed to be done before the night was
over. It wasn’t the same for me, I wish it were though. I sat right there on
the ledge of my window looking at the moon and smoking those cheap cigarettes
that my drugged out mother would leave lying around the house. It was very
double standard that she; who never came home while the moon was still up
wouldn’t let me ever leave the house unless it was for school or visit a friend
that she considered appropriate; like I had any. It never mattered though
because I could tell her I was going to kill myself right to her face and she
would be too hung-over to care.
Everyday was
the same, wake up, go to school, come home and then the cycle continues. It was
the definition of a typical high school teenager I would presume? No!, who the
Fuck! Am I kidding it was not; 16 is suppose to be those Golden years, the
years you will never forget. The ones that you will look back at and think, “WOW”
wasn’t teenage life great. Well that was certainly not my life. The books,
movies and TV shows depicted the teens that always had it good and never the
ones like me; the ones that didn’t have it all. Didn’t have the cars, the house
or the friends. I was that kid who you never knew did class with you for 4
years. Sad isn’t it?, but it’s the truth.
I can
decisively say that of me, there was nothing to live for; absolutely Nothing. I
can’t say that I’ve never considered suicide before because I have more than
one; in fact everyday. Ninety percent of the time I would consider taking a
hand full of pills, my mom has loads. I wouldn’t be missed, my mother would
probably cry and my friends, well I don’t have any so, yea my mom would cry. I can’t
tell exactly what would happen but those are my best guesses well at least what
I can imagine.
I know I’m
troubled I cut myself all the time; I do it because feeling the sharp blade
rubbing my thin pale skin of what use to be a clean wrist makes me feel like
I’m draining all the bad. I’m not a shrink so I cant tell you the source of my
pain or frustration but all I can say is that there was nothing that hurt more
than my everyday life. It was fucking horrible. I didn’t drink much or was
bullied; it was more about never being noticed or maybe not having anything to
look forward to. As far as anyone was concerned and by “anyone” I mean my
mother I had no future what so ever. I
mean seriously how can I go to the same school with you for 4 years and have
the exact class schedule but the only thing you have ever said to me is, “Do u
have an extra pen”; she was a cunt-bitch!, but I loved her so much and I don’t
know why. Lets not stray shall we she was never important. This is about me and
my problems. I tried not to make her one but she kept coming back to my mind.
I’m not
trying to be one of those “emo kids” that blame the world and fucking North
American society for their problems rather I blame every fucking human being
who contribute the definition of what is expected from a “typical”
teenager. Well I’ve spoke about my
Drunken Mom and the cigarettes, the cutting and loneliness. So I would believe
that this is where I end the “memoir”. Ill try not to cut too deep after
writing after I end this Blog post. And fuck! the Teacher who incentivized me to do this. Express
feelings my ass.
Written by: Omar Hall
*This was a creative writing piece for a Literature Class*
