"Isn't it so scary that it could be the last time you are talking to someone? Keep it in mind when speaking of others."

I vividly remember, the thunders and the rain when some girls tied to me a pole and let me die. All along I was tied there yet no one bothered to rescue me.

Why?

Because I was an outcast.

I was ugly.

I was useless.

I was not worth it.

I was misunderstood.

I was always mistreated.

I was always underestimated.

Thats what I was.

Simply a freak that no one wanted, Really.

Not my parents.

Not my siblings.

Not my teachers.

Not my neighbours.

Not my own self.

My family could care less about me. After all, I was a disgrace. Not pretty, nor smart.

I was a shame!

To them.

To society.

To my own self.

They told me so.

At each and every turn of my life, someone did.

Who are they?

They are these creatures we call humans.

They poked and woke up my inner demons. Then they fed it. And now, its conquering me.

My Sad Story? Iwas always bullied since the kid. Someone would take my books and bags, hide them, vandalize my desks and books and everything in their power would be done to make my days a torture. And they succeeded.

Hack they even took away the one thing I loved the most, my art!

Each day, no one saw me cry to sleep. To them it was fun, to me it was a torment.

No one asked me if I was okay.

No one questioned me why I wore long clothes in hot weather.

No one bothered when my thighs and arms bled.

No one cared when I almost died.

No one cared that I was at the edge of my sanity, slowly sinking into insanity.

No one did.

Not one soul.

And they have the audacity to ask me why I never told them.

Hell did ya'all ever think of asking me?

People, I tell you!

That day is vividly embedded in my mind. The day that changed it all. I was in school when the school bully took my lunch, threw it in the bin and provoked me to eat from that. I cried. No one heard me. I fought, no one backed me. I bled, no one aided me.

I could tell the teachers.

Except they could care less.

Money talks, they'd say.

I tried. I really did.

Believe me I did.

But I got nothing in the end.

The Victim became the Perpetrator.

Again people who say they are there for you until its time for them to be truly there for you!

So I had had enough. My dark soul cried out to let lose and I did.

I skipped school that day and ran home, tears running down my face.

I did not care who saw me.

They would be seeing me for one last time anyway,

I ran into my room and threw my bag on the floor.Stripping off my school uniform, I stood infront of my bathroom mirror.

A slow sadistic smile made its way on my face.

I loved pain.

It became accustomed to me for I don't know how long.

I took out the box that held my best friend, my one friend that never left my side and was always there during bad times and good.

The razor blade.

I set in the bathtub filled with water and smiled.

Finally the pain will stop.

Right?

Right replied my inner conscious.

The razor made contact with my skin and I felt the coldness of it seeping into my skin, in contrast to my hot blood. 

Slowly I swiped it, the blood which I was awfully familiar with, oozed out like an open tap. 

Thats when I smiled widely. 

The old memories began flashing by my eyes. 

Their torments.

Their words.

Their actions.

Their bullies.

My demons speaking to me. 

My demons making me do things.

My demons making me swipe a sharp blade on my skin.

My demons making me enjoy pain. 

And I was at the verge of my death, When my demons finally began letting my mind go. The dark smoke finally releasing my mind from its cage. 

My senses came speaking to me.

They asked me why I was doing this?

Why I was taking my own life?

Why I could not conquer my demons?

Why I was dying such a pathetic way?

When I was at the verge of death, they questioned me.

Their questions made me realize. 

What if-

What if I can make a new life for myself?

What if I can survive this phase?

Just...

What if?

I set up and washed off the blood

I don't know how I survived.

I don't know how I lived.

I don't know how I escaped death.

I just did. 

A few months after recovery, I was no longer the same girl. I was no longer that person. I changed. 

This time for the better. 

I dipped my brush in the paint and stood in front of a white canvas

So what they took away my art. 

I still have other means.

I still have paints. 

And so I painted. 

I sketched and painted.

A girl.

In her solitude.

Left all alone.

The black paint symbolized her dark state of mind.

The colored paint symbolized her colorful state of mind.

The butterflies around her reminded her that life was out there.

And lastly the semicolon, it symbolized that this is just a phase, just like it is used to show the junction of a sentence. It indicated that she had hope. 

HOPE. 

For everything. 

Who was this girl?

It was I, Kiara Moore, 18 and the owner of the best selling painting in the entire Pacific, Won Against Suicide.

My paintings made one thing clear: Suicide is not an option. Its just a state of mind!

Conquer your Demons, Don't let the Demons conquer you! 

Are you really really ready to give up what you are yet to see? 

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This essay was written to symbolize the Anti Suicide Day, 2016. We in Fiji are working together to stop suicide and bullying cases. 

#strongerthenWinston is the tag that we use for it. Winston was a hurricane that had managed to damage Fiji severely and up til now, people are still recovering from it. 

Read, comment and Share this message. 

Let us make a difference. At least some way. 

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