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The power In the pen


Wow I look in the mirror and see the girl I am today, wondering to myself what had changed. Maybe it was the look on my little sisters face when she found me lying on the floor all drugged up years ago because I took a bottle of pills that morning. Maybe it was when I was laid up in the hospital with my mom by my side crying because someone found my suicide note in my papers. But once upon a time I used to look in the mirror and the person I saw was different. When I looked in the mirror there she was, a girl who was broken inside. I used to cry myself to sleep for endless nights. Use to think the razor blade sitting in the cabinet underneath the bathroom sink was the only thing that would give me any type of relief. It used to never be this bad. Yea, I was bullied since the second grade but it wasn’t what caused me to want the pain to end. What drove me to being suicidal was the day I wish I could change the most. I remember it still to this day. Crystal clear.


It was the day that shifted my life the most. Couldn’t bear hearing my parents cry when I finally spoke up about what had happened that night. I had went to a party with a girl I deeply wish I never had met. We had a few drinks and passed out but I remember waking up to someone on top of me taking all the innocence I had in me. I remember walking into school that Monday and having people laugh at me in every direction. Saying things like she probably begged for it. What a slut. It was this day in particular where I took the razor blade and made the first cut. A gym teacher noticed I had taped a paper towel to my wrist and asked the nurse to check if I was alright. I was sent to the adult I trusted the most, South Middle School Vice Principal Rob Feeler. In that moment we were sitting in his office we had made eye contact and I saw all the hurt in his eyes. In just one simple word he asked Why?  I couldn’t bear but to start crying and I started to pour out everything that was happening. It was that night that caused all the pain that was bottled up inside of me. It was that night when I had lost all faith. It was that night where my life had changed. But a year went by and I was ending 8th grade finally. What a happy moment. Finishing up my therapy sessions and finally was able to stop taking the anti-depressants.

I Found My Love For Writing.

Writing is very worthwhile to me because it shows the real me, and not the girl I made up so that everyone would like me. I can be me: the girl who is self-sufficient, fierce, and free-spirited, but also laid-back. When I write, I can say what I want without choking. I don’t have to keep coming up with different personalities to be liked. My journals are there for me more than people who I thought were my friends. The people who stigmatize me believed I should become the girl they want me to be. People don’t understand that words trigger more deaths than any bullets could. Words can bring us together but can also be what breaks us into pieces. Words are a glue that fixes broken hearts but also a hammer that smashes mended ones. Words are the boost that we need but also the straw that makes us snap.

When I got into High School at William Smith and got a fresh start. I told myself what had happened in my past won’t follow me here. I could be the person I wanted to be. I was wrong. I started to hang out with a crowd who made fun of others. So, I stopped hanging around them and started to be my own person.  I was in a good spot in my life. I was healthy again. I was 2 years clean from cutting. I started to do more in my community. Started writing poetry and being more confident so others could hear my works. I even volunteered for a class where I taught younger students the signs of bullying and what symptoms to look for if someone they care about is suicidal or depressed.

But junior year came around. And I was placed in a class with a couple of girls from that night. That night I wanted to end my life in middle school. These girls started to harass me again. Saying what had happened to me was my fault, I went to the party so I must have wanted it. With me seeing them every day it brought back old memories and my depression slowly starting to reappear. It brought back the self-hatred. It brought back the endless nights of crying. But the worst thing was it brought back the memories with an old friend that was back under the cabinet. It felt like there was an evil spirit inside of me trying to take over me once for all.

So I did what was best for me. I stopped going to that class completely. Because I knew if I didn’t stop going I would go back to my old ways again. I would have probably started to cut again. I didn’t want to bring pain to my family again. So I knew what I had to do. But there were a few adults at William Smith who tried to stop me from making a decision. Even though it would be helpful to keep me at a healthy spot in my life. These adults were telling me I had to go back and finish the class. When I told them what was going on it felt like they didn’t care. It made me feel like my world was coming into pieces, but I still had to do what was best for me. Even if that meant I had to go against what they said so my world could be whole again.

The reason why it felt like they didn’t care was because every time I would miss the class they would tell me I had to be in class. It took them nearly six months to figure out the reason why I was “ditching” every day. Still then they told me there was nothing they could do. So I made the decision with my family that I would stop showing up. Even if it meant failing the class, at least I knew what would prevent me from going back to the bad mindset I was in when I first started to cut. Throughout all of this I still didn’t trust people enough to vent to them about anything. The only thing I had was my writing. The words that spilled out onto paper and made people wipe away tears when they heard the power of my poetry.

My poetry was the only thing that kept me going.
The only way I could escape.

The only thing that brought me light when I was stuck in a world filled in darkness. Poetry helped me see a future for myself. So when I heard we could do our senior project about anything we’re passionate about. I decided to focus mines on the aspects of bullying.

This project will focus on my past. On being bullied through poetry, also a tribute to the 2007 novel and adapted web series Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. Sorta. I’ll be changing it up. So instead of talking about 13 reasons why I tried to end my life. I decided to recruit fellow poets in my school to team up and construct works focused on 13 reasons why preventing self-harming is imperative. These poems will be displayed in sound kiosks planted around my school. Lastly, I will be making a “bully box” where students can write down their feelings on a piece of paper and put it in the box. The box will be locked so no one will be able to get into it. I think this would help create a better environment because students hide their feelings so instead of bottling things up they have a way to vent. The showcase for this project will be on December 20th from 5pm-7pm.

I don’t know if this project will change anything, but I have complete faith it could do a lot of good. I know change isn’t easy but I believe the work I’m doing could be a start of something that one day could change school systems all around by destigmatizing suicidal thoughts. I Sabrina Wells want to thank everyone who reads my story. I also want to thank my family and friends who all helped me realize my life is precious. I want to thank my wonderful parents for believing in me no matter what. But mostly I want to thank the people who had put me through a hard time throughout the years because if it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t have found my happiness or my love of writing.

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