By: Marilyn H.
What's remarkable about me? I don't know. The people around me have
different opinions and reasons and examples to answer that question for you. I
couldn't do it myself. Nothing about me is original, I am the combined effort of
everyone I've ever known. People are not only themselves. Without others around
us, we wouldn't be complete. We would be flat paper cutouts of people, cluttering
up wastebaskets and sidewalks. We are changed by every encounter, every cruel
remark, every soft smile, every time we cry ourselves to sleep. Each event is
seared into our memory, branded into our hazy daydreams. The disappointed
faces, the disgusted looks, the questioning eyes. That first time on a swing, your
feet touching the sky for a split second, finally walking on those clouds that always
seemed so far away. Every time you got scared from a police siren, because they
had the power to take away your family and break it forever. That time in you lived
in a blue tarp tent, not a house, making everyday feel like an adventure. See how
things change you? Like the first time you stole something, a second cookie from
the jar at preschool. That transformed into candy, earrings, necklaces, sodas,
pens, rings, and notebooks. You were hooked. You were broken. Then someone
came along and gave you the courage to stop. It changes you. Forever. Put down
the razor blade, put down the bottle, put down the cigarettes. Using something to
forget, even if just for a blissful moment, all of the awful things that have happened
to you, somehow ends up hurting you more. The things that changed you with
scars on the outside, and scars on the inside. The type that don't fade. The first
time you looked in a mirror and only halfhated the person you saw. The first time
you stood up for yourself, instead of letting them smash your face into a wall or a
mirror or their fists again, to give you another black eye to match the purple bruises
on your arms and the circles under your eyes. The first time you saw a dead body,
in a car crash, the driver limp through the windshield, glittering gla** scattered like
fallen stars on the oily asphalt. The first time you ran away. The second time you
ran away. The first time you wished you were dead. The first time you realized
most of these things happened before you were seven years old. You share these
experiences and memories with everyone around you. The person who helped you
stop. The person who proved you weren't as awful as you thought. The person on
the street who smiled at you for no reason. The first person that understood your
pain and not to ask you about your past or your parents or whatever happened
before you were in third grade. That isn't you anymore. Now it's a different name,
different family, no bruises, more scars. You're like a soft blue piece of clay, being
picked up and remolded and reshaped by each person you let into your life, some
more than others. Someone you knew for years and never talked to before could
end up being the reason you're still alive. You could change the way someone
thinks with a note in their locker. YOU also change people's lives everyday. So
when life knocks you down, roll over and look at the stars.