Why am I Here?

Why am I here?

By Alex Hadlock

It was a cold night, sometime around November.

He just sat in the car as his mom ran into Wal-Mart.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her usually laughing baby boy.

She begged him to tell her what was wrong until, he snapped.

He pounded and he pounded and he pounded the dash until he was sure

the gods above could hear him.

And he yelled, “STOP!”

“Take me home!”

So the two mile drive was filled with nothing but the mothers sobs.

Not knowing if she was fulfilling all the mother jobs.

He flung the car door open and slammed it shut,

as he walked toward the empty house.

His dad was right. As the words spun through his head like a top.

Making him just want to drop.

“You are nothing!”

“You are worthless!”

“You are always making everything worse!”

“No one will ever love you!”

And it was true.

Because from the moment he opened the door to what seemed like

forever no one cared.

When he threw his backpack against the table,

when he launched his fist in the wall leaving a reminder still there to this day, no one cared.

He slumped into the couch head in hands remembering the words his dad

spoke to him so many times.

Because in his mind the scars underneath hurt more than the ones

on the outside.

Because those words to his face hurt just as much as that slap across the face

He remembered it going on when his dad would walk to him high

slam him into the wall,

hit him till he would fall,

now doesn’t that sound like a ball?

For his father it was.

Then he thought even farther back.

Back to when he sat no more than 4 foot 5,

in his desk in elementary school just thinking of how to survive!

He was hit, choked, physically and verbally, abused.

Or so he claimed.

They questioned if he was to blame?

Outside one day, he didn't see the kid who jumped on his back,

fists around his neck,

not knowing what to do he stood there, taking it.

Was it still his fault?

After he was about to collapse,

he finally raised his hand throwing him from his back

and landing five blows.

But never the less haha it was his fault!

He walked out of the office with a slip reading recess ban 5 days

HA recess ban? He doesn’t even go to recess

all that paper was,

was just another piece of stress.

His mom flashed in his head.

her laying in the hospital after the surgery.

The surgery that was going to fix everything.

Make all the unnecessary weight go away.

She, was going to be healthy.

She was so, innocent.

Just like a white dove sent by God, but

God had stopped caring.

About a month until she was back in

and it happened again,

month after month,

week after week,

day after day.

She would be out for a week, maybe, and then back throwing up,

his mind like a yoyo

hoping she would be better this time

No?

Maybe now?

Until the string was cut.

In the room at his grandparents he saw her one day

drool coming out of her mouth

skin peeling

eyes up in her head

she was ¾ dead.

he shook her a little

He had lost his sanity

and she had lost her vanity

He shook her again screaming like a baby

Mommy!

Mommy!

She woke a little to tell him

they’ll kill me if I go back!

Drowning in tears as he rode in the ambulance

holding his mother down.

he sat curled up outside her hospital room

the doctors always walked by to ask if he could calm her down

he said nothing.

he just sat there rocking back and fourth

No one was worried about him.

And now sitting on the couch he asked why?

Why does everyone hate me?

Why can’t I do anything right?

Why can’t I be happy?!

Why?!

Why?!

Why?!

“Here’s why because I shouldn’t be here,” he said

he started to pound his head

his mind raced

breath got faster

his life was a disaster

they told him it was all ok but it was a lie

he had nothing to do but just sit there a cry

he grabbed his head and you could hear him scream.

Low? he had no self esteem.

So screw that sticks and stones bull crap

because the words of a mother begging for mercy, and of a father

who tells him to die hurts a hell of a lot more than a broken bone.  

There would always be that,

somewhere over the rainbow.

But no, because all he does now is try and not let it show.

The drug was stress,

that dirty needle passed around the room

shared with the demons inside

he was asking them why hasn't he died.

Everything coming from the voices inside of his head.

the withdrawals made it all,

the cure was to fall, drop, pop, dead.

And for once he stood up straight and walked toward the kitchen

grabbing the first knife he saw that would be able to end it all.

When he sat back down he pressed hard on his neck, feeling it

start to pierce his rough teenager skin.

The screams in the night and crying

without having the shoulder to do it on.

Voices shouting in his head

not having their own to do it in.

People not knowing he had a problem,

because he would not let it out.

So he would walk through the halls,

sit on the couch,

lay in his bed with the weight of the world

and then another

100 pounds from his army pack on his shoulders

alone.

He didn’t want it to show.

He couldn’t let it show.

Because he knows what will happen.

Yes he knows of the various pills

and needles crammed into the little

space not filled by the thoughts of

the black man carrying the sheath.

and he knows the looks he would

get if he walked down the street

everyone holding up a mirror

and it reading in his own blood “hey freak”

or “#human test tube.”

He didn’t want to be another name

in a doctors computer.

Test after test,

as the doctor pounds the keys,

those keys might as well be the nails

in his casket, because he’d rather be dead then

take another needle.

Take another pill.

And this turns the fear, the little

child in him, has from the threat of dying

from the monster in the under his bed

but wanting to die to stop the voices in his head.

He just wants to be dead.

He thought what else they would say, but that was just another thing for another day.

He was supposed to die by the North Koreans

the Russians

the whoever we were facing in World War III.

But now he’s going to be found hanging from a tree.

He was the kid everyone last expected because,

no matter what he was never effected.

He would always make a joke, and argue with the teachers.

Talked so loud he could be considered a preacher

“And that’s what my eulogy will say,” he thought as he could feel

the knife tear through until everything went black.

Then quickly it all came rushing back.

But it was light, he saw his school, his church, his teams and for

a split second he felt happy, when everything came back to reality.

He felt a bloody mark on his neck, looked across the room to see the knife stuck into the wall, and he heard his phone buzz with “what's up’s?” from his friends, and that boy knew why he was here. That boy, was me.