Memoirs of a Troubled Teen

The Following is a Blog post by 16 yr old Zachery Groff.

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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*