Last night, when I was tossing and turning unable to sleep, I started to wonder. Am I actually needed? Is there really any reason for me being here?
If I had never existed, then someone else would’ve realized Melissa was hurting, and someone else would’ve tried to find a way to stop it. Someone else would’ve been there for Violet and someone else would’ve been there for Bell. Someone else would’ve talked her down off the ledge and she would still be here today.
Someone else would’ve picked on my brother and someone else would’ve taught him a bunch of dirty jokes and swearwords. Someone else would have comforted him while his parents argued, and someone else would’ve beat him up with a plastic lightsaber.
Someone else would’ve come to a boy with their insecureties, and eventually she would start to see him as more then a friend. She would date him for a few days, realized it wasn’t gonna work out, and then when she broke up with him he would consider suicide because of her. And somebody else besides me would have to live with the guilt and the anxiety.
Some other girl would’ve taken issue with her body and some other girl would’ve tried going hungry for a few weeks. Some other girl would see the scars on her friends’ arms and have no idea how to help. Some other girl would have written stupid emo poetry in the back of a Harry Potter notebook, trying to describe feelings that she had no idea how to put into words.
Someone else would’ve done well at speech and debate tournaments every weekend, and someone else from my league or school would’ve set records. Someone else would’ve struggled in ballet class and someone else would have made the dance teacher want to pull out her hair. Some other teenage girl would’ve accidentally discovered social justice on the internet. Somebody else would have written songs and stories and blog entries.
Chris, I’m sure, would have been caught making out with some other girl. And some other girl would’ve gotten suspended and he would’ve gotten in trouble with his parents either way. And maybe, this girl would’ve been black like him instead of white like me, and he wouldn’t have been in extra trouble for dating a stupid cracker bitch.
But instead, it was me that all this shit happened to. For better or for worse, I was the one that went through all this stuff, and I’m the one who’s still alive to tell the tale. So please, for god’s sake, can someone tell me why?