The Things I Would do to be Happy

A Story by Ember Smyth

I used to be happy. I would cherish every day, and could hardly wait until the next. Everyone would often say I was the happiest person they knew. Too happy, maybe. Well, I paid for it. I think reality set in when I realized Santa Clause wasn't real at seven. If anyone asked, I would have denied it, still clinging onto hope. Hope that I was wrong. After that, though, it all sink in. The Tooth Fairy wasn't real. The Easter Bunny wasn't real. Unicorns weren't real. Magic wasn't real. It was all an illusion. But I would still be happy, right? I couldn't let some simple facts destroy my life. Yet it snowballed into so much more.
About a week after my realizations, my cat killed my mouse, Carmel. Out of grief, I accidentally stopped feeding my other mouse, Cream. My mom hated me for this. She yelled, and yelled, and yelled. I locked myself in the bathroom, and collapsed onto the floor, crying. Why was the world so cruel? Why did my mother hate me? Then, once again, it sunk in. My mother hated me. Everyone hated me, in fact. I was so happy, it was annoying. No one liked an overly happy seven year old.
After that, I sunk into a deep depression. I locked myself in my room for three days, when I should have been going to school. For three days, I cried in my bed, only ever stopping to accidentally fall asleep. I peed and pooped myself, but I didn't care. I didn't eat or drink, but I didn't care. I was more hungry and thirsty and dirty then I had ever been, but I didn't care. I spent my birthday in there, but I didn't care. I think my mom stopped yelling after the first day. I think she gave up after the second. At last, I finally came out.
If anyone asked or talked about my disappearance at school, I just ignored them. I ignored everyone. I didn't say anything for about a week, sometimes crying at my desk. My mom had written me a note that said I had strep, and I could come to school because I was no longer contagious. She explained that was also why I could not talk. Eventually, they stopped trying. My closest friends had senced something was wrong and trying to cheer me up, but eventually they stopped trying, too. Even though they acted like they liked me, I knew they were lying. They hated me. They all did.
Then, one day, I had a thought. Why let them win? Why let them bring me down, why let them feel like they had achieved something? No, I would let them have the satisfaction! From that day on, I wore a smile on my face. People started warming up to me again, wanting to be my "friend" again. I wouldn't let them win. I would be "forgiving", but I would always remember what they did. And pretending to be happy had an effect on me, too. I became happy. I actually forgave them. When they moved away or transferred to a different school, I missed them. I was happy, once again. But I was fragile. Oh, so, fragile.
I was 11 in sixth grade, about a year behind everyone else. But I had become to happy, once again. Annoying. People avoided me at all costs. My once closest friends became my bullies. "Go away!", they would say. "God, you're so annoying!", they would say. "Just, shut up!", they would say. But I wouldn't let them bring me down. I had been there before, and I was not going back.
I kept up the charade. I pretended to be happy. Each night, though, when I was sure no one was watching or listening, I would cry myself to sleep. It was tearing me up on the inside. The people I had once trusted with my deepest, darkest, secrets, shared my most embarrassing moments with, had turned against me. They didn't tell anyone, though. They knew anticipation was enough to make me want to die.
I shut myself up. I no longer could trust anyone. If I did, they would turn on me. Even the people who had stayed with me through everything, no matter what, I shut out. No one would hurt me ever again. I slowly weaned everyone off of my attention, until I would just ignore them completely. Eventually, like last time, they all gave up, and we went our separate ways. Except this time it was permanent. I still kept up the charade, though. I was just less... enthusiastic. If I was forced to talk to anyone, I would wear a smile, but escape as soon as possible.
I so badly wanted help. I so badly wanted not to feel this way. But who would care? I had thoughts... Bad thoughts. A student last year had committed suicide, but no one cared. They just thought that he was stupid. I don't want that to be how people think of me when I'm gone. So I'll stay happy. I have to stay happy.
To keep up the charade, I befriended the friendliest people in the school. I joined girlscouts. Whenever I could, though, I broke away from the conversation, and played games on my iPad. Sometimes I would go into my Notes app and work on my novel about a girl who everyone hated, yet stayed strong. I wanted to be that girl so badly.
One day, I met a girl like me. Shut down, like me. She never talked. Never. Unless she was called on by a teacher, of course. I decided to try talk to her. She instantly realized I was like her. We became friends. Best friends. Better yet, she was in my home room, so we were able to sit together at lunch.
Then my grandma died. She was the only other one I was close to. Allie kept me from shutting down completely, though. We truly were best friends. We went through many hardships that year together, but triumphed them all.
Except for the last one. It was the second to last day of school in the seventh grade. The group of friendly people and I, along with Allie, who had also joined, were watching YouTube after school on my iPad, as usual. But this time was different. A video we watched was full of cuss words and... inappropriate scenes. I paused it as soon I realized what one of my friends had accidentally clicked on, and it was forgotten.
Or so I thought. The next day, I was called to the principal's office for showinging nude and vulgar scenes on school property. Even worse, he made me search it up and show it to him. Unlike my friends and I, who stopped it after the first second, he watched the whole thing. I was sentenced to summer school, and the last day of school festivities (which included: getting fake tattoos, snacks, kareoke, dunking teachers in water, making our own ice cream, and more) were off limits. Instead, I spent the whole day doing schoolwork in my home room.
It must have been Allie who told. She was the only one I trusted, the only one who hadn't betrayed me, so it must have been her! How could she do this to me? And it was that day that I was gone. There was no fixing me this time.
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I remember all this as I step up onto the stool. I'm only twelve. I shouldn't be doing this. But I am. I have no place on this earth. Everyone I know has told me this at least once. Maybe not to my face, or maybe just through actions, but everyone has told me this. Sometimes more that once. I wrap the belt tightly around my neck. "There's no going back," I tell myself, but I already know. That's what I'm hoping for. I look at the sticky-note I stuck on my chest. "Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted,". I don't care what people think. I'm done fighting my destiny. I'm done feeling like this. I would do anything to be happy again... I step off the stool. I feel the belt tightening on my neck. Tighter. Tighter. I can't breath. I... didn't think... it would hurt... so... much...

© 2016 Ember Smyth

Author's Note

Not everyone is as happy as you might think. Always keep this in mind, as just one thing could tip them over the edge.

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Voidwvlf

This is really good. I wouldn't say I relate in precisely the same way, but these feelings set in around 12 years old. Trauma and untreated depression wreak havoc on young minds. It's a shame more people don't realize this and brush off emotionally disturbed children.

Thank you for writing this.