I was fifteen. I was depressed. My parents were going through a divorce because of my stupid mother. I was alone. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I was tired of being tormented by the thought that I would never be good enough. Not only for myself. But for others. They always seemed to be able to push me to do stuff that wasn’t ok. I didn’t know how to fight for myself.
I walked the halls of Elberta Middle School, wishing that I could just walk out. No one would notice. Well, maybe the guy that keep touching me, after I had told him to stop. But here, in this school. No one does what you say. Either you stay away, and be an outcast. Or you join them, to fit in.
It was May ninth, of two-thousand-eleven. I was in the fifth grade. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what or where I was going. All that I knew, was that the train I was on, was never going to stop, and let me have a break.
I watched the rest of my musical art mates practicing for a concert that night. Some were vocal, and then some were instruments.
My real talent was in my English skill, my vocals, and imagination compatibility. I was able to create the most beautiful stories that people in my family, (My older brother, Isaac.) said they had ever heard, or even read. Isaac loved me. He was always there for me. Up until we were separated. Isaac when with our dad, and I stayed with our mom.