Sorry it's kinda short.... :( I had writers block....URGHH
Chapter 3:
wtf scar u cut???
well.....kinda....
omg thts not safe at all!!!
well.....whoever said it was gonna b safe
scar this is not okay u need to get help
u tell a soul and i will kill u...better yet kill myself
fine i wont tell
k
well at least uv told sumone
yah i guess thts good
trust me i wont tell anyone, but rlle i just want wats best for u
yah ik tht. i just rlle dnt know how else to let any anger out
therapist?
no. y wud i pay sumone to listen to me vent? i have u for tht and its free :)
ahaha yes u do :)
thx for tht btw
dnt do anything stupid k?!??!
k ill try
k i gtg sry bye DONT DO ANYTHING UR GONNA REGRET!!!
kkbye
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Holy fuck. I can't beleive I just told Kevin abt tht. I mean I know Kev won't tell a soul....but still. I felt so releived but so freaked out at the same time. I just gave away one of my biggest secrets ever. It was official. At least one person now knew part of the real me. My secret is out. I can no longer be the person everyone thinks I am. I am Scar the depressed girl. Scar the one with anger issues. Scar the cutter...
After an hour of thinking about confiding in Kevin and assuring myself my secret was safe with him, I crawl into bed and pull up the covers. I plug myself into my iPod and start an Eminem album. This time I let the tears fall. They fell for the my dad--and how much I missed him. They fell for my mom--and how much she did for me. They fell for everything I've done--to hurt people and to misjudge people. They fell for the love from my family and friends that I had ignored while I have been so depressed. And then...they fell for the scars. The one place that I could express all this--my wrist. I muster up all the strength I can manage to lift my wrist and stare at my sorry excuse for hurt. So many people out there have it worse than I do. There are people without a home. Without parents. Without friends. Without family. Without food. Without water. Without so much that I do have. And I'm sure there are people like that, that don't cut. They don't let it get to them, and I do. Every damn thing gets me so angry. Then I keep it all in and lose control when I'm alone. How sad is that? People out there have NOTHING and I have so much that I dont think about. I just take it for granted.
This just made me cry more. The salty tears soak into my pillow and soon my whole side of my head was soaked. I try to lift myself up so I could change the side of the pillow, but I'm crying so hard I can barely move. Air was barely reaching my lungs. "c'mon, act your age Scar. Just quit the crying. Your so immature." I whispered to myself. I lift myself from the bed and walk back to my desk, and open the drawer. No, I wasn't gonna cut again. At least not tonight. But I picked up a small handful of elastic hairties. Walking back to my bed, the tears slowly but surely, stop falling. As I place the hairties on my bedside table, I plan my morning. Wake up. Slide hairties on wrist. Deal with the pain of the pressure on my open wounds. Hold back tears. Pick clothes. Get showered. Get dressed. Go to bus stop. Go to school. Suck it up. Put on a fake smile.
YOU ARE READING
How did it get so bad...?
Teen FictionThe story of a girls journey through dealing with untreated depression, cutting, and the obstacles of the life of a middle schooler who is more than she seems.
