I remember the night so clearly, even though it was years ago. Just like every night, I walked home from work at 11:00. I took the usual route to get the mail for my Mother. As I walked, the crisp, cool, fall air blew my hair and took the heat from my limbs under the thin cotton coat I used to keep warm through the cold months. I heard a car approach; not thinking, I kept my pace and kept walking. All I knew was the sound a sliding door and then an unending pain enveloping my brain. On their own accord my eyes closed, and I fell into darkness and pain. I awoke barely clothed and covered in dry blood. I tried to move, but when I tried, I was encased in pain. I will never know how long I lay there. I soon passed out again. I awoke to a beeping sound and a bright light. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright lighting. I looked at the figure next to my bed. I observed the figure. She reeked of liquor and wore a too small cheetah-print dress and her mascara ran down her face.
“Mom?” I asked the figure in a raspy voice. “Oh, honey, I am so glad you are alright!” she practically yelled. She grabbed my head and pushed it against her fake chest. I was grossed out first. Then it all came back: The van. The blow to my head. The dry blood covering my bare body lying on the ally floor. The flashes of pain. Those horrifying beings needed to be found so that the pain I felt would never be caused again. I wouldn’t involve the police. I needed to heal my damage by inflicting upon them the pain I felt. The pain they had caused. I became what I needed to be to take away the pain. To get my revenge.
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My mom tells me every time I feel overwhelmed, ready to break down, or even give up: “If it were easy, everybody would do it”. That is a quote I have grown up hearing, and it motivates me. My mom went to college to be an English teacher, but there aren’t a lot of jobs outside of education that will hire you with a degree like that. My mom had experienced that; she taught school for three years, then married, and moved down state with my dad. There weren’t many teaching jobs available, and she needed an income. She is now the Stockbridge Township Treasure and handles the township's taxes. So she doesn’t want me to be at that crossroad. I love math. I may not be a human calculator, but to me, it makes sense. I want to be an accountant. They are need everywhere, and they have a nice income. Also, I can take it any where in the world: math is the same all over the world. If I could travel anywhere in the world, I would want to go to Europe, Ireland, Australia, and Africa. But it was hard for a kid like me until sixth grade. I hated reading. Reading is something that is part of daily life, and will always be used. Now I love to read; I read about an average 7-9 books a week. I work hard for my grades. My mom gave me this idea of wanting show horses, travel, good credit, a nice house, a barn that is 50 by 80 and has an indoor (a covered arena you work your horse in; it allows you to practice for competition year around). If I want that for my future, then I have to work hard and get good grades. Even though I am tall and every one wants me to play sports, my heart isn’t into that. I ride horses and run 1-2 miles when I have the chance. One of my weakness is being under pressure for long periods of time. I slowly break down and clam up. Like I said before, one of my biggest weaknesses was reading for a long time, but I soon found a book series I liked and my reading took off from there. In each part of your life you will have a hard part. Once you get past it, don’t let it bother you until another test is set in front of you. Or that's how I comprehend it. I know there are some students that think I am really smart, but I ‘ve worked and worked to be that way. I am a note taker. In my head, I go over stuff in my head over and over. It doesn’t help me that I will obsess with things that I have done. I always think I can do better; I think that is partly why I am so hard on myself; It is so I succeed. One of my strengths as a person is my idea of my future. All the things I want in life will need to be worked for. That means I have to work hard in high school in order to go to college. Even if I end up going to a community college, I can get a internship; in turn I will have an accounting job by the age 23. If I get a job, certain companies will pay for me to get a higher education to make their companies successful. With that idea I want to work hard and nothing will stop me. Another one of my strengths is being able to talk to adults and have serious conversations. If I can speak to adults and being taken seriously, then as I get older, I will be taken more seriously while doing my job or while learning. My peers and the mass media have affected life by showing me what is proper in the horse world while showing. When you are showing horses, you want to be up on the newest trends or you will be out of place. Mass media helps me know what is in style, such as pictures, clothing, tack, and even technique. But, I think it is your actions and performance that matters; although, if you wear wear something that complements you and your horse, it will catch the judge’s eye. At equestrian team, I was one of the only girls that on the way out the gate, I would give my horse a pat on the neck. I did this because, even if I placed or didn’t, we had a good ride and it was a learning experience. Also, it can help me by knowing what each type of judge is into horse-wise. My peers, such as my friends and family have supported me, even though they did sports and I did not. My mom has supported me through all the surgeries, my change of friends, my worries, and the drama and rumors at school. In my life I have rough spots where I want to really just curl up in a ball and cry, but then I think I there is someone that has it worse or knows what I am going through: That keeps me going. If I want t have the future I want, then I have to work hard and have a goal. In the future, I hope I will have my peers to support me and support my goals, even if they don’t agree. I remember the night so clearly, even though it was years ago. Just like every night, I walked home from work at 11:00. I took the usual route to get the mail for my Mother. As I walked, the crisp, cool, fall air blew my hair and took the heat from my limbs under the thin cotton coat I used to keep warm through the cold months. I heard a car approach; not thinking, I kept my pace and kept walking. But, I guess my greek heritage got the best of me. All I knew was the sound a sliding door and then an unending pain enveloping my brain. On their own accord my eyes closed, and I fell into a darkness of pain. I awoke barely clothed and covered in dry blood. I tried to move, but when I tried, I was encased in pain. I felt a needle being piercing into my arm. not thinking of it. I will never know how long I lay there. I soon passed out again. I awoke to a beeping sound and a bright light. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright lighting. I looked at the figure next to my bed. I observed the figure. She reeked of liquor and wore a too small cheetah-print dress and her mascara ran down her face.
“Mom?” I asked the figure in a raspy voice. “Oh, honey, I am so glad you are alright!” she practically yelled. She grabbed my head and pushed it against her fake chest.I was grossed out first. Seeing past her shoulder I saw that my room number was 1811. Mom drew back as if I was toxic. I saw where I touched her. I left orange fingerprints on her shoulders. She was suddenly out of breath. Then it all came back: The van. The blow to my head. The dry blood covering my bare body lying on the alley floor. The flashes of pain and the needle injecting something into my body. Those horrifying beings needed to be found so that the pain I felt would never be caused again. I wouldn’t involve the police. I needed to heal my damage by inflicting upon them the pain I felt. The pain they had caused. I became what I needed to be to take away the pain. To get my revenge. Coming out of my revery. I soon noticed that my mom stared at me like I was an alien. “Mom what’s wrong? Mom!” I looked at the women and kept repeating myself. “What’s wrong with your eyes? Are you wearing contacts? She questioned, but not really caring for an answer. “Mom what are you talking about my eyes are fine. They are the same blue they have always been. Have you been taking drugs again?” I told her questioning what she was going to say next. “ Violet , your eyes are now a dark blueish black. You can’t even see your pupil.” She addressed like it was something so little. “ What?! You have to be lying! It was like when you told me about my father Bernard Courtois being dead!” I yelled. “ Lower you voice right now young lady” She whispered gently. I had never seen her this serious before. I always saw her as a teenager that loved to party. All of a sudden I was angry at the women, who never cared, now that she was telling me what to do in the life she was in very little apart of. My hands started to glow a bluish violet. I felt amazing. I had so much adrenaline running through my body I ripped the IVs out of my arm and the pulse-ox off my body. I got up my body felt regenerated. I saw the window and a way out. The search started now. I ran and my body became lighter and I jumped. The air of the fall and the final ending didn’t bother me. I decided that 53 was going to be my lucky number since there was 53 stories in the building. I landed on my feet and surprisingly nothing hurt. As I landed I took off running not caring if I was butt- naked under my hospital gown. I was free, stable , and happy for the first time in my life. This was one of the first times I felt stable in my life. No more locking my door when mother was having her all night parties afraid of the molesters, no more giving up my paychecks to keep a roof over my head, no more of that stupid women. If she wanted to continue her lifestyle, then so be it. I wasn’t going to be part of it. Even though I had five siblings none of them cared or would miss me. I kept running to find my revenge. Looking at the screen, the girl felt numb; the comments about a picture she set as her profile picture filled it, and even seemed to reach out to her, sucking her in. Making a final decision, slowly and surely, she deleted all the nasty comments. As soon as that was done she did searches on key sentences, like “How to commit suicide”, “ Ways to kill yourself quickly” and even “ How to make suicide painless”. Also, she searched “ How to make a quick suicide note”. She believed if she ended it all, the hate, name calling, and the fear of disappointing others, would all go away. She felt like a shadow, like something everyone looked through or past, so this time she was going to become one. Succeeding at suicide might make the pain go away.
On April, 20, 2014, her life was done on earth. She lay in her beautiful oak casket still, stone cold, and looking like an angel. All the commenters of the nasty words came to the day of a great loss. Seeing the beautiful, funny, smart, and kind girl lying dead, her tormentors felt guilty. The girl had had so much potential, and her life ended because of words typed by someone hidden behind a screen. Social media can have positive effects and do a lot of good; however, it can have negative effects and consequences, and can even create a venue where people execute cyberbullying. Studies have shown there has been an increase of users of the phenomenon called social media since 2004 (Luxton, June, Fairall). With the increase of users, there has been more websites, social networks, and new added inventions such as chat rooms, social networks that are more public. These new inventions are giving bullies more access to their victims and more ways to taunt them. Also, with the increase of users, the taunters don’t have to really know the victim. A study was done on suicide: 30,000 suicides happen a year in the United States because of social media; 1 million worldwide of them occur because of social media (Luxton, June, Fairall). The internet is giving tormentors more access to their victims. Social media can be accessed anywhere, such as at home, restaurants, friend’s houses, and while traveling in the car with family. With all this access, the victim feels like he or she will never be able to get away. That is when suicide comes into question: when the victim feels that death will make the tormenting stop; no more name calling, harsh words, not being good enough because he or she is different from the other students. Face to face bullying can end up in physical fighting, but bullying with a screen between the two sides makes the tormentor able to say things that he or she wouldn’t say to the victim's face. Also, the things said can be anonymously. Social Media has social networks that, consequently, can cause have negative consequences. Social networks give tormentors access to pictures that might not be the most flattering or able to be photoshopped to make them worse. They then share them onto their social network account, letting others in their group see them, and leading those who saw the pictures to share them. Social networks have created several websites allowing victims to get ideas on how to commit suicide to get away from the torment. A systematic web search of 12 suicide associated terms (e.g., suicide, suicide methods, how to kill yourself, and best suicide methods) to simulate the results of a typical search conducted by a person seeking information on suicide methods has been performed. They analyzed the first 10 sites listed for each search, for a total of 240 different sites (APHA). People create websites, so that victims can get an idea on how they want to die (Luxton, June, Fairall). They do this to get rid of the pressure. Studies have found that 59% of suicide victims found content and how-to’s for suicide on social networks and websites. Also, message boards or forums have been used to spread how to suicides (Luxton, June, Fairall). Also, studies have shown that suicide factors include psychopathologies such as depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, and conduct disorders, problem solving deficits, and sexual abuse that can lead to suicide not just cyberbullying (Prevention Researcher). Children have committed suicide because of other things besides social media. Social media has made sites called chat rooms. Chat rooms give taunters ways to talk and make fun of the victim. Chat rooms allow multiple people to have conversations online in groups or in private. Social media platforms such as chat rooms and discussion forums may also pose a risk for vulnerable groups by influencing decisions to die by suicide (Luxton, June, Fairall). Chat rooms allow tormentors in great numbers to pick on the victim and make it public to others who might not go to the same school. This spreads the torment to other schools and helps the tormentors spread their messages to other areas. Also, message boards or forums have been used to spread information on the victims. Finally, there is a positive outcome. Social media has given victims access to other victims’ stories that have already been bullied in their life. Also, those that are being bullied can see the results from victims that gave their lives in an attempt to rid the pain from their lives. An example is Grace McComas. She was a 15 year old Glenelg High School sophomore from Baltimore Maryland; she took her life on Easter Sunday of 2014, to end the pain of a cyberbullying campaign against her. According to her father, Chris McComas, the cyberbullying had lasted for months before the his family found out (Facebook). Sharing stories about other victims from families, friends, and bystanders can give a victim the idea that life gets better, that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Even the victims that didn’t choose death to be the answer can give the victims insight and help them get through their hard time, by giving them someone to talk to and get advice from. Victims that ended up not committing suicide gave the victims hope; thus, giving them an idea, that you can choose life instead of death. Also, it gives parents access to other parents that have lost a child, have a child that lost a friend or sibling, or even a family member that has gone through cyberbullying or suicide. Parents might argue they don’t want their child to be on social media so that they won’t be cyberbullied or exposed to ideas about suicide. But, social media is all around. Schools now use it for teaching, class work and homework. Some business use it for promoting their business, or for filing paperwork in the cloud. The children that have never had much access to social media won’t know how to use it correctly and might make horrible decisions. Also, for kids that don’t have a phone that is no way to contact them. Social media is used all the time. If children start using social media during their teen years, they will have more experience as they get older, and know that words said through social media don’t mean a thing. In this century, the people will use more social media to keep in contact with old high school classmates, file pictures and videos, pay bills, receive payments, and read papers and articles. Social media can be used as a storage device, a tool of cyberbullying, or create hope of light at the end of a dark, depressing tunnel. June 14 2009. 12:00 PM. U Of M Craniofacial clinic. Seven months until my fifth major surgery.
“ Delaney, I need you to understand, that you should do this surgery, since your jaw isn’t growing and that could cause problems in your future,” Dr. Buchman told me in the thick silence, soundless, noiseless. “Why? How long would I have to wear this?” I asked asked as tears rain down my face. I didn’t understand why this happened to me? Why couldn’t my jaw just grow normally? Why did I have to be a cleft-palate kid? Why did I have to health problems? With this surgery, would I look even more weird as I do now? If I looked even more weird would a paper bags make me look good? “ Delaney, honey, you need surgery. We are going to do it,” my mom finally told me. “ Okay. What season or time of the year would you want to? What I do need to say is that there wouldn’t be any type of sports six months after it; even a punch to the face would shatter the bones in your face before the bone becomes hard and heals,” Dr. Buchman informed my parents. In that moment of tears, and bad luck, all I could hear is, “It's supposed to be hard. If it were easy, everyone would do it,” repeating in my head as tears ran down my face on their own accord. From that moment on, I lived by that quote; it’s my mom’s manta: she says it every time I am frustrated and want to quit. September 18, 2015. The first day of of the second season of high school equestrian team. We were finally an A team. We were going up against Hartland and Leslie. Hartland and Leslie both had advantages over us. We had eight horses and eight girls. Hartland had 20- 25 horses. This allowed each rider easily to have two horses. Having another horse allowed the rider to have specialized horses. This helped, because every class demands different skill sets from horses and riders. Each rider had a personal trainer helping them and their horse so they would succeed; also each horse was a show horse and never lived in a field a day in it’s life. Leslie’s coaches were both trainers and had been showing all their lives; plus, each person had a show horse or speed horse (a horse trained to run very fast around barrels in a certain pattern). Then there was us. Only three girls actually owned the horse they were riding. For some of these girls, it was their first year riding for the Stockbridge Equestrian Team, so it was all a learning experience. Some of the horses had never been shown before, and others were shows horses, but needed work. For coaches, we had my mom, who had showed horses every weekend until I was born since she was in her teens, and Coach Kelly, who showed Equestrian and 4-H when my Mom was assistant coaching for Stockbridge. Other wise we didn’t have a trainer (personal coach) for each girl. Some girls didn’t ride all around (in every event); they couldn’t participate in all the classes (events). At one point, two Stockbridge girls were riding in 9-12 classes because the team wanted to go to Regionals. When I ride side by side by somebody, who has more experience, a better horse, someone who gets professional lessons, better tack, I feel like they have better equitation than me. In the end, it is the judge’s decision. At the end of the class I give my horse a good pat, and tell myself I worked just as hard because if it were easy, everyone would be riding horses and competing instead of doing other sports. January, 7, 2016. I believe “It's supposed to be hard. If it were easy, everyone would do it.” Here I am. I am still here. I have had 17 surgeries in my 15 years of living. Doctors from U of M are amazed that I am alive. I am a walking miracle. This miracle, is going to keep riding horses, through all my healing, my surgeries, and anything that life throws. I have had my breakdowns, feeling of being at the end of the end of the rope, not seeing the end of the tunnel. Life is hard, if it were easy it would be boring. |
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