“But Rachel, if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?” My mom’s retort quickly bounced around my head. Of course not. I’m not stupid. Anger bubbling over, slowly leaking into my words, my actions, my thoughts, I raced upstairs and slammed the door. For some reason, we all believe closing a door is closing off from the world, locked in a sound proof room. Nobody can hear our secrets, our screams, our cries. Rage, pent up inside for God knows how long, shattered the cage in which I locked it and took over my body. When the rage finally dissipated, chairs, drawers, clothes, picture frames, lamps, littered the floor as tears sauntered down my face. Would I really jump?

My life has been peppered with traumatic social situations. A pinch of rejection here, a dash of name-calling there. Oh and don’t forget the whopping tablespoon of awkward and annoying labels. Ever since middle school, I’ve been an outsider, not hated enough to bully, not loved enough to befriend.

I’ve had friends that loved me one day to only ignore my existence the next; I wasn’t a part of the ‘cool’ crowd. Soaking wet, I’ve cried as I watched someone throw my clothes onto a truck as it drove away. Dignity escaped through my tears and landed so comfortably on the locker room floor. My past is riddled in a pattern of alienation, rejection, and abuse. And, just when I thought I was all alone, thought I wanted an escape, thought I needed no one, I finally found a friend. I found someone I thought would always be there for me, thought would always be my best friend, thought cared about me as a person, me as a whole but, the thing is, this friend was nothing more than a manipulative termite. Taking advantage of my riddled past, she knew I would do anything to keep her around because, well, I never wanted to feel the neglect, the hurt, the pain, the tears that had cluttered my life to that point.

I thought that finding a friend was like finding hay in a needle stack. The pain omnipresent as I searched for the solitary piece of hay and, when I thought I found it, I never wanted to let it go; I never wanted to experience that pain again. However, I was greeted with manipulation and torment, “Rachel, nobody likes sad people so, just get over it.” Pulling out a chief’s knife, the blade reflecting the rage embedded in her heart, she held it to herself and screamed, “if you are going to cut yourself, I’m going to show you what it’s like. I’ll show you what it’s like and I’ll cut myself right in front of you. Maybe you’ll learn something.” My mouth fell to the floor as shock meandered through my body. Yet, I still thought this was the only friend I had in my life. I needed her. I didn’t want to go back to the neglect, the deserting of before.

As I sat in my room that day, I thought long and hard. Would I jump? Would I really jump? The social trauma’s I faced flashed before my tear soaked eyes. I’m an outsider. I’m lonely. I’m lost. I’m depressed. I’m afraid. I needed love. I needed to be wanted. I needed a friend to tell me they cared, that I wasn’t a burden, that I mattered. All I wanted was connection and, as an outcast, I’d do anything to get the connection I so desperately craved, the connection that eluded me for all these years. A victim of human nature, searching for any bond, any tie to peer, I thought again. When every friend has deserted and neglected you, when you feel like theirs no one else in your life, when you feel like this is the only person that cares about you, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t jump. I knew I would.