My Own Private Demons

By Matea Green

Morgan Galloway is in deep depression. And it's only getting worse. Two years ago, Morgan was told she shouldn't look the way she looks. And of course, the bully who told her that was only joking. But Morgan didn't see it as a joke; she went home to kill herself, only to wake up in the hospital hours later. She has a voice in her head that is telling her every day why she is in no way beautiful, and Morgan thinks the only way to really get rid of the voice is to end it all. She fears she won't ever get better, and she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life getting made fun of. She has kind support from her mom and brother, but her dad just doesn't get it. He is the one parent she wants love and affection from, but he refuses because of the attempt she did on her bathroom floor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781645442219

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My Own Private Demons

Matea Green

Copyright © 2019 Matea Green

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2019

ISBN 978-1-64544-220-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64544-221-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

One week later after I came home

from the hospital

10:46 p.m.

(Memory)

Spending a week in the hospital, I cried myself to sleep every night I was there. I hate to admit it, but it was on my mind; cutting was always on my mind. They kept me on suicide watch until it was my time to leave. The memory of me in the bathroom with the precision knife in my hand was stuck in my head, and every single night, it would cause me to cry uncontrollably. As my time being in the hospital was going by, I really didn’t care to eat much. I didn’t want to eat at all. I didn’t want to socialize or cooperate with anyone. I wanted to be alone. I told the nurses to never open up my curtains whenever they entered my room, but of course, they thought differently. All through the day, all I did was cry, nonstop. Still mad at the fact that God didn’t take me away from this hellhole we call earth.

(The Dream)

As I was lying on my bed with my dog Milo by my side, I overheard Mom and Dad arguing, which was shocking because they never argued; they might disagree with each other but never scream at each other. It was obvious they were arguing about me. What I did had affected everyone that loves me, and it was destroying them. I glanced at the scars that were stitched dentally into my arm, and I started to cry.

Where are you going? Mom asked from outside my bedroom.

I need to clear my head. I’ll be downstairs, he told her as he closed their bedroom door.

I looked at my door and got out of bed with Milo in my hand. I quietly opened my door to peek out, seeing my dad go down the stairs. Ever since I came home, my dad and I had been distant. He tried avoiding me as much as possible. But at this very moment, I really wanted to talk to him and know why. I guess this was as good a time as any. I put Milo on the bed and walked out the room, closing the door behind me very quietly. I walked downstairs to find my dad, only to hear a pour going into a small glass of ice from the living room. I walked into the living room, and he was sitting on the couch, sipping on his glass of whiskey, in frustration. I wiped away my tears to make it look like I wasn’t crying at all, and I called out to him, Hi, Dad.

He didn’t look at me when I said it, not a flinch. He just kept his eyes straight ahead.

Can you please talk to me?

He didn’t say anything.

Dad, ever since I came home, you’ve been avoiding me. I see that you can’t stand being in the same house as me, let alone the same room… We’re not like we used to be, Dad. We don’t have fun. We don’t have our movie nights. We don’t—we practically don’t do anything anymore.

I paused to see if he would react to anything I just said, nothing. He was just sitting there, still staring straight ahead.

I sighed. Do you even love me, Dad? I said as tears dropped from my eyes.

I think you should go to bed. It’s late, he blurted out, ignoring my question.

I stared at him with a blank look on my face, stunned at the fact that he didn’t even answer my question, assuming he doesn’t love me. Then I walked away toward the stairs in anger, but I stopped and walked back into the living room.

Dad, you are being ridiculous. Please talk to me.

He took a sip of his whiskey. I scuffed and rubbed my forehead as my eyes were closed. Is it because I sliced my wrist open? Or is it because you have a daughter that isn’t quite happy with herself? Which is it? I don’t like myself, Dad, I said as I walked closer to him. The tone of my voice got a lot louder. I don’t like being ‘me’ at all. I don’t want to look like this anymore, I said as tears rolled down my cheek. I don’t feel beautiful, Dad, I cried. He shut his eyes and placed his hand on his forehead. One of the many reasons why I did what I did is because I despise being…the tall girl. It’s so disgusting I can’t even deal with it. I did not ask to be this way…and I certainly didn’t ask to be this skin color either, I said as I quickly walked off.

Morgan! he yelled as he got up from the couch and walked toward me.

What! I snapped.

Are you going to stand there and look me in the eyes and tell me you hate your skin color? he angrily asked. I looked at him with a lot more tears forming in my eyes, because it was true; I’ve always wanted to peel my skin off. Hey, why not? I am mixed with two races people are not too fond of…so why not join them?

He looked at me with eyes so wide. What the hell is the matter with you? Why would you say that?

Hey, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, I said as a tear came down my face.

What’s happened to you? I don’t even know who you are. You’re not my daughter.

I know, Dad…I know. I’m not normal. You should’ve figured that out when I was in the hospital for trying to cut my arm open… I am joked about almost every day because of my…height—‘That tall girl this, that tall girl that.’ I am so tired of hearing that. It hurts my feelings, but I forgot this world doesn’t care about your feelings or about how you feel when they make fun of you for being different, something you have no control over, I said, crying hysterically.

Morgan, you were made—

I placed both of my hands over my ears. Please, Dad, I don’t want to hear that ‘God made you for a reason’ crap. Didn’t you hear a word I just said?

Morgan, look at your arm! Look what you did to yourself…all because you don’t like the way you look? I smiled out of frustration as he said that and rubbed my forehead. "You had no right to do what you did, and you know it! No right!"

Are you saying I have no right to feel what I’m feeling? This feeling didn’t show up just because…I want to tell myself how beautiful I am, I want to tell myself I’m wonderful and worthy and actually believe it.

You have a roof over your head, food to eat, and a bed to sleep on… You are a lot richer than most people. You are in no position to act like you got it bad.

I slowly shook my head as tears came down my face and then laughed out of anger. You’re really not understanding me. This has nothing to do with any of that. There are a lot of people out there who are not nice to themselves, Dad, like they should be. There are people out there wanting to hurt themselves or wanting to die because they hate the way they look or something tragic happened to them or is happening to them…and you have no right to tell me what I should be feeling. You don’t know what’s going on inside my head, I cried. This has nothing to do with being ungrateful of anything. I paused and took a deep breath. You have no idea what it’s like to have an endless war going on inside your head and you can’t stop it yourself because you have no control over it—I have no control over it. You can’t just tell it to go away, because it won’t. You don’t know how it happens, it just does. I wiped away my tears and sighed, looking at the ground. And because of what’s going on inside my head, it makes me think a lot deeper—like, why in the hell was I made this way if it was going to be a problem to people? I’m no masterpiece. I am in no way considered beautiful. How is any part of me beautiful? I have a weird-shaped face, my lips are way too big, my skin color—well, you already know I hate that.

He stared at me with a blank look on his face. He couldn’t believe I said what I just said. Morgan, go upstairs. You are… I really can’t believe what I’m hearing. Just go upstairs, he said, walking away.

In case you haven’t noticed, Dad, I am a girl. I am not supposed to be taller than guys, let alone the same height. It’s embarrassing, it is so embarrassing. I placed my hand over my head. "You don’t know how much it pains me to see guys on Twitter tweet ‘Short girls are better,’ ‘Short girls are the prettiest,’ and they give reasons as to why they are… That hurts me so much because they don’t know that those four words destroy me. I don’t have a choice. I’m stuck like this. It’s not fair that I’m like this… It’s not fair that I have to be tall. Why do I have to be? Why? Couldn’t God have made all women short to prevent us from making taller kids!" I cried as tears were rolling down my face. Hearing myself say those things to describe myself and what others think of taller girls was really hard for me to say.

I don’t even know why you have that crap in the first place. I told you to delete all of your social media accounts.

Dad, it doesn’t matter. There are guys out there who don’t like girls who are… Why can’t you understand that me being…is the worst thing about me, the absolute worst… I think I speak for everyone when I say ‘It’s not attractive, it’s not appealing.’ More tears came down my face as I was saying this.

"Morgan, enough! he snapped. I don’t want to hear you say another word! You should be so ashamed of yourself."

Well, Dad, here’s a plot twist—I am… Why can’t you and Russell be more like Mom? She hugs me like nothing ever happened. She tells me how important I am to her. She makes an effort. Why do I get the feeling like she’s the only one that’s happy to see that I’m still alive?

Morgan, you harmed yourself, you wanted to die… You don’t love us, you don’t care about us. If you did, you wouldn’t have continued the little charade you had in the bathroom. I don’t think I could ever forgive you for that. Your brother and I did not expect you to stoop that low. We don’t know what to do with what you’ve done to yourself. This is… He couldn’t find the words, so I helped him out.

I know, Dad, I know. Disappointing, disgusting, embarrassing. It won’t bother me. Go ahead, say whatever it is that’s on your mind. I’ve heard a lot worse coming from myself… You know what, I’m done trying for you two, and I don’t even care if you guys feel this way towards me, because if something were to happen to me and I actually flatlined, you two would have to live with it, so I don’t care, I said and quickly walked away.

Morgan! he yelled.

I stopped. Fifteen cuts to the arm. I paused and turned around to face him. And you guys act like I don’t matter… Now what if they were stab wounds? I wouldn’t be standing here talking to either of you. Would you guys have hated me more for killing myself?

Damn it, Morgan! he snapped. He collected himself and took in a deep breath. We do not hate you.

You just don’t care. Now what if I took that knife and sliced my throat?

Damn it, Morgan, that is enough! He violently pushed off the big vase that was placed in the hallway, and it broke into pieces all over the floor. I looked at the broken vase with tears in my eyes and, seconds later, looked at him as the tears slid down my face. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. You need to go to your room. I can’t even look at you right now.

I looked at him. I could say the same about you. I cried and headed up the stairs but stopped and walked back toward him. You know, Dad, what if Grandma Sophie had her reasoning of not liking black people? She didn’t like the fact that my grandma ended up with a black man. What if she didn’t want her great-grandkids to be mixed because she possibly knew I probably wouldn’t like the way I look? And she’s right. I don’t want this disgusting skin color. I love Mom so much, but I resent her for getting with a black man, ’cause now I look more black than I do, Native. No one can tell unless Mom is standing next to me. Grandma Sophie probably hates me because I’m a lot darker than the average Native. And I hate it. I looked at him with tears in my eyes for a few seconds longer. I turned around and cried my way up the stairs.

Milo whined and whimpered, not wanting to see me cry. As he began to lick away my tears, I heard a knock on my door. What!

Russell came in and closed the door.

What do you want? Are you going to tell me how stupid I am too?

Yeah, I am.

I rolled my eyes.

I heard what you said to Dad, and he’s right. You didn’t need to do what you did. It was completely unnecessary.

You guys are really annoying, you know that, and right now I don’t want to listen to anything you guys have to say, so please…just get the hell out of my room! Get out of my room! I screamed.

Russell looked at me for a moment, then he opened my door and slammed it when he walked out. I lay back on my bed and continued to cry.

*****

Do you ever regret cutting yourself? Dr. Garrison asked.

Do you always have to ask me that question? I asked him.

There was a brief silence between us; I put my head down, having flashbacks to that day in the bathroom.

Morgan, I ask you that question so you can be more comfortable answering it when people ask you.

I lifted my head back up to look at him, tears forming in my eyes.

No. I don’t, I answered as a tear rolled down my cheek. I was hurting…and at that moment, it was comforting. If anybody saw them, I would want them to see that I’m hurting.

Are you getting comfortable with who you are? he asked.

I don’t think so… I’m starting to hate the sight of my body, I quietly told him.

So you’re hating the way your body looks? Are you not wanting to eat? he asked me.

Uh…, I sighed, not really wanting to give him an answer. I don’t know why I told him at all. Stupid me. I didn’t give him an answer. I just stood quiet.

Do you consider yourself bulimic? I didn’t give him an answer.

Can you tell me how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten a meal, Morgan?

I didn’t give him an answer.

Morgan— He paused to rub his forehead. Morgan, please don’t do this, please… You are a beautiful girl, very beautiful…and you probably don’t believe me when I tell you that… Why?

I just gave him a sorrow stare. I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself either.

Morgan…please don’t do this.

I looked at him as tears were coming down my face. It was not that I don’t want to eat; it was just that I’m given reasons why I shouldn’t eat. And I was fully convinced.

Please, he added.

I put my head down; there was a moment of silence.

He sighed. How are you coping with the Newman situation?

I laughed. I don’t know. Again, it’s really all just a blur…but he’s always in my dreams, he’s always there. He’s like a trigger. I really can’t quite explain it, but there’s like an evil…pure evil spirit to him, and every time I see his face in my head, he makes me want to…

Cut? he added, I looked at him with tears coming down my face and then I nodded.

I’m always feeling this evil presence standing over me 24-7 knowing exactly what I’m thinking about. It’s like he knows what I want to do, I quietly said.

Do you miss it?

I can’t…control my thoughts. Every morning I wake up, I want to feel that blade ripping through my skin. I’m sorry that I’m… It’s just, I’m wanting to do it again, so bad. I placed my hand on my forehead and started rubbing it, and as I was telling him this, I realized that I was not making any progress at all.

It’s okay, Morgan. I am here for you. You know I am not here to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m simply here to get you through this, one step at a time at your pace. I will not fail you, I promise. I wiped away my tears. He grabbed a few tissues from his desk and handed them to me. I couldn’t tell if he was lying to me or not, but those words were sure nice to hear.

I know, Morgan, that I’ve, uh, asked you this question once before, but we never really got into major details with it. When was the first time you started to feel these feelings towards yourself?

Seventh grade. That was when I realized that I was different from the other girls.

"By different, you mean—"

Taller, I added.

Okay, okay, so the Newman situation just added on to your depression, making you feel more hatred toward yourself, and then Conner making it a lot worse, hating yourself even more, and driving you…to harm yourself.

Exactly. I smiled as a tear came down my face.

Chapter 1

Thursday, October 29, 2010

Two years later

Instantly awakened from dreaming to a disturbed scream outside my bedroom window. I closed my eyes again, and within seconds, I heard it again. I lifted up my head and pushed the covers away and got out of bed to walk to my window, looking out of it. I opened my patio door and stepped out to see what was going on. As cold as it was and without having anything to cover up my body besides the shorts and T-shirt I had on, I still wanted to see what the screaming was about.

I saw Macy Henderson running on the canal. Macy lived at the end of the street with her aunt and grandma. Her mom moved to California for a job promotion. Macy didn’t want to up and leave her life here in Colorado, so she stayed with her aunt. Macy was a cheerleader at Cherry Creek High, and a good one at that. She went the extra mile by running five miles every morning, while I stuck with my three miles, but today I wasn’t up to it this morning. She was tall and petite, and her hair was red and fell exactly on her shoulders. She kept it nicely curled. She wore her makeup nice and simple to hide the freckles that she was ashamed of.

When I was watching her run, it wasn’t an exercise type of run; it was more of a help me someone is chasing me type of run. I was wondering why she was running in such shock, but I found out when I saw someone chasing her in a Ghostface costume. Before I could say anything, he had already caught up to her; she was screaming for help, and as she was screaming for help and fighting her way out of his grip and as he grabbed her, he took off his mask. It was her boyfriend, Jason, who lived fifteen minutes away from where we lived.

Macy, are you okay! I yelled from my patio.

No! This jerk scared the hell out of me!

What the hell, Jason? I called out.

She knew it was me the whole time.

Yeah right. I’ll see you guys at school, I added.

Bye. They both said as they started to kiss. I sighed. Jason was known for the pranks and jokes, and the one he just pulled wasn’t bad.

I quickly ran back inside and closed the door. Just as I did, my phone was already ringing.

Hello. I yawned.

Good morning.

Good morning. I smiled as I lay back down in my bed.

How are you this morning? he asked.

Well, I woke up to Macy screaming outside.

Really? Why? What happened?

Jason was chasing her in a Ghostface costume.

Wow, that’s a good wake-up call. He chuckled.

Or a heart attack, I laughed. Well, I’m going to try and wake myself up some more and start getting ready, and I’ll see you at school.

Okay, I look forward to seeing you at school, he added.

Bye. I smiled.

Bye.

I smiled, shaking my head. Ever since Brian moved here from New York, he’d been a little too friendly. I hope he isn’t getting any ideas, because I’m in no way ready to be in a relationship. I plugged my phone into the charger, I was going on 15 percent, and then I played with my puppy, Milo, my beautiful black and brown German shepherd.

Good morning, Milo, I happily said. I got my four-year-old puppy three months ago from a shelter in Denver. My parents bought him for me because they felt like I needed to have a companion, even when I was not around my friends. I played with Milo for a little while. He loves when I play with him first thing in the morning. Milo, you know I have to get ready for school. I can’t play with you all day. He then started to whine and whimper.

Ah, Milo, don’t do that. You know I love you, and you know I always come straight home after school.

I showered him with love and kisses, and he quickly placed his paw on my arm, and I kissed it. Aww, I love you, Milo, so much. I showered him with more kisses. I wish I can stay in this room instead of going to school. I don’t want to be around those people, Milo… I just feel like they still make jokes about me. I looked at him. But you love me, don’t you? He got excited and started jumping on me and licking my face. Okay, okay, I need to start getting ready. I kissed him on his face, and I got up from my bed, grabbed Milo, and placed him on the floor. He walked with me to the bedroom door, and I opened it so he could go downstairs and use the bathroom. My mom is always the first one up and downstairs cooking breakfast, so she makes sure Milo goes outside and is fed. I closed the door and did the longest stretch anybody could ever do, and I turned on my bedroom lights. I walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. I took off my clothes feeling disgusted, knowing that underneath these clothes was a body no person in the world should ever have to look at, even the ghosts that I couldn’t see but could see me when I get naked. And in agony, I stared at my body. I cringed at the sight of it. Gross. I had fat around my stomach, and my arms looked like Jell-O—so disgusting. No one will want you looking like this. You still need to lose a lot more weight for a guy to even look your way, I heard a voice say in my mind. Your thighs are so fat and a bit of back fat as well… It’s disgusting. You look hideous.

I shook my head in disgust as a tear came down my face and stepped into the shower, hoping and praying this shower would wash away any problems for today, but I knew it wouldn’t. As I stood there with my head under the water, I glanced at my scars on my right arm, and I gently touched them. They healed, but they were permanently stuck with me for the rest of my life. I looked at them for a few seconds longer before I leaned my head back into the water so it could hit my face, but as soon as I did, the flashbacks of me sitting helplessly in front of the shower, holding the precision knife in my hand, with blood everywhere, quickly came to mind. I quickly lifted my head back up, not wanting to see that horrific moment. I closed my eyes for a moment and continued showering.

After I washed myself and my hair clean, I turned off the water, grabbed my towel, and stepped out. I walked out of the bathroom to my closet to pick out an outfit for today. I pulled out black cargo pants with a loose black short-sleeved T-shirt. My clothes had gotten bigger on me; instead of struggling to button my jeans, I could just pull them up like a pair of joggers. I grabbed my white high-top Converses and placed them by the bed, and as I was laying out my clothes, I heard a knock on the door.

Come in, I said.

Good morning, sweetheart. Mom smiled as she walked in and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

Good morning, Mom.

How are you this morning?

Well rested, I lied. I’d been too busy crying my eyes out for the past two weeks. I’d been missing my grandma heavily, and I just wanted to be with her. And on top of feeling like an enormous pig, with belly rolls and a double chin and arms that weighed as much as a whale, I just wanted to cut off what I could grab from my stomach and thighs and chin. But I couldn’t tell my mom what was really going on with me. She thought I was getting better and improving, and I hated knowing that this was all just a cover-up, all a lie. I hate lying to the one person who’s been loving me through it all.

Honey, your eyes… They look—

I just miss grandma, that’s all, like, a lot actually… How’s dad been doing? I feel like I haven’t seen him since he started those three a.m. shifts, I said sarcastically, knowing he did that to avoid me as much as he could.

Honey, he still loves you.

Yeah, I don’t think he does. All I’m getting from him is avoidance. Jeez, Mom, we live in the same house, and you would think I would see him every day.

He doesn’t really know how to cope with something like this. He’s never been around this sort of thing, and as a protector of the family, he doesn’t know how to protect you from yourself.

So, he works before the crack of dawn and comes home when I’m in bed. I wonder what made him make that change.

Morgan, he goes to work in twenty minutes. If you hurry, you won’t miss him.

Mom, that’s not the point. It happened two years ago. He seriously needs to stop being so rude… That goes for Russell too.

Morgan, she called out.

Mom, they have been on my ass about shit that, again, happened two years ago, and I am so tired of getting the cold shoulder from those two, I really am.

She stood for a brief moment in silence. She scratched the tip of her nose before she said anything. How are your sessions with Dr. Garrison?

I…reduced them, I told her as I quickly wiped away my tears.

Morgan—

Mom, I need to learn how to do this on my own. I can’t lean on anybody else to get myself better. Instead of four times a week, I cut it down to two.

Okay, well, as long as you’re still going to see him, that’s all that matters. She looked at me for a second without saying anything. I think she can tell I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Are the pills keeping you from getting any sleep, because I can call him and ask him for another prescription. You look like you haven’t gotten any sleep.

What, no. They are helping me to stay asleep.

Okay, well, breakfast is about done. Hurry and come down so it won’t get cold. And please know that you are a beautiful girl. You do know that, don’t you?

Little by little, I do, I lied, not believing it for one second that I am.

She walked out of my room, closing the door. I then continued to get ready for school. I grabbed my clothes and went in the bathroom to quickly put them on. I threw my hair up in a messy bun with a couple of hair strands falling at the sides of my face, too tired to even care how it looked. Honestly, how could you think you look okay? Everyone can see that you’re not that pretty. You’ve never been beautiful. I looked at myself a few seconds longer, staring at my tired eyes. There was no kind of freshness in my face, no glow. It had been a while since I’d seen a fresh face. I ignored the voices, and I walked over to my patio door to see what kind of weather we were going to have. It still looked a little gray and chilly out, so I grabbed a black fitted sweater from my closet. I made my bed, turned off my lights, grabbed my backpack, and left out of my room.

Shit, I said as I walked back to my room, headed straight to the bathroom to grab my small-sized toothbrush and toothpaste, and headed to the kitchen. I stopped again before anybody could see me and walked back up to my bedroom and into the bathroom. I lifted up the toilet seat and just stared at the toilet. I shut my eyes and took in a deep breath. Come on, Morgan, don’t do this… I took in another deep breath and put the toilet seat back down. I walked out of my bathroom feeling good. I was trying my hardest to get better,