Shattered Heart

Part 4 ~ 10'000 Teardrops

I just ate everything that was in our fridge. I couldn't help it. I just had to eat all this food to feel better. Now I may feel better but I know it's not gonna take long until the horrible depression sets in. 

That's when I hate myself the most. 

That's when I feel like dying. 

I'm sitting on my bed, staring at my poster of Adriana Lima above my bed. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. I wish I could be as pretty as she is . . or even half as pretty. But I'm not . . I'm an ugly fat ass . . no boy will ever fall in love with me.

And here come the tears . . I knew it's not going to take long for me to start crying. I ate so much and I ate it all so fast . . I really shouldn't do that . . it's so unhealthy but I can't help it. Do you know the feeling when you want something so bad and you just can't stop thinking about it? . . that's me with food.

I feel more tears building in my eyes . . they're slowly running down my cheeks. Michael's handsome face pops into my head . . why can't I just let it go? . . he's never going to fall in love with me . . he's never going to be my boyfriend. . why am I even sad about him having a girlfriend? . . I'm pathetic. Michael and Keisha are perfect together.

She's pretty . . skinny . . popular . . no wonder he's with her. She's flawless, just like he is. And what am I? I'm nothing. I wonder how Michael can look at me and not puke. I watch my tears hitting my pillow. Why am I so fucking ugly? . . and why did I have to eat so much??

I get up and walk in front of the mirror. I hate looking at myself. I hate my double chin, I hate my chubby cheeks . . I hate my huge belly . . I hate my massive boobs. I hate my butt . . I just hate everything about myself. I break down on my knees and start crying even harder.

Why can't I be someone else?

Why can't I be pretty? . . I wanna be like all the other girls in school. I wanna be popular . . I wanna have friends. 

But most of all, I wanna have Michael as a friend. How great would it be to spend time with him after school . . hanging out . . talking to him . . being with him. 

I melt just imagining it. 

I grab my phone and throw it across the room. Why did I just do that? . . it breaks when hitting the wall next to my door. I'm so dumb . . why the hell did I just do that? . . gosh . . I don't even know what just got into me. But it doesn't matter . . no one calls me anyway. Why do I even have a phone?

I've never in my life gotten a phone call or a text message from someone other than my mom or my aunt. 

I open my drawer and throw everything around my room that is in it. Books, papers, pens and hair clips. I hate everyone and everything!!! . . I get up and lay down on the bed. I grab my pillow and scream at the top of my lungs. I'm letting it all out . . but it doesn't help a bit. 

I still feel like destroying everything in my room . . everything in this house . . I wanna destroy MYSELF! why am I still here? . . I don't wanna live anymore. I open my bedside table drawer and look for my Swiss army knife. 

With a shaky hand I pick it up and look at it for a while.

Then I decide to open it and place the knife on my arm. I pull up my sleeve and start cutting. I do that sometimes . . I have a lot of scars on both of my arms. But I always wear long sleeve shirts . . so that no one ever notices. 

I give myself a very deep cut . . slowly I'm starting to feel lightheaded . . but it's worth it . . I know it is . . I'm gonna love it . . I'm gonna love the pain it's giving me . . it will distract me from all the other pain I'm feeling. 20 minutes and about 10'000 tears later I drop the knife and inhale and exhale deeply.