Untouchable

Sicker Things

A/N: I apologize for this being late, I'm trying to update once a week, but I was so wrapped up in my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary I had no time.

Enjoy :)
__________________

I remain unknown

MDMA did bad things. The following weeks after spring break, I thought it was just things at school getting to me. I took the pills to make me feel better--which they did--but as soon as their effect wore off, it was like all the life was sapped from my body.

I had recently weighed myself. I had lost seven pounds since the wedding thing. It was good, but for some reason I wasn't excited about it. Knowledge of weight loss would normally make me excited and relieved. But I felt none of that now--if possible I felt heavier, more exhausted. It was like my energy fell along with my weight.

Never had I ever felt so useless in life. I was so down--so done with life. There was nothing left for me. Sure, there was Jordon, but for some reason, even he, wasn't enough. We hadn't really met up since . . . that night. But crossing paths with him the halls, he gave me winks.

Mind mistreated

Perhaps it was because my love was held in the ice cold palms of Jordon. It was all physical--I had a tough time believing he was in love with me and not just my body; but my body was anything but a wonderland--damaged by scars, unbearably big.

Or maybe, I felt so wasted away because the Barbies couldn't care less about my adventures with Jordon. Well, no, that wasn't exactly the right word. It caught on that I was no longer a virgin, and I was now considered a slut. Fucking hypocrites. How many guys had they laid in their lives? More than me. Sure, maybe mine wasn't the most practical way, or had any ounce of loving in it. But at least I saved it for the guy I wanted to give it to.

That was my problem. I didn't want to. I wasn't ready. That's what had to have wrecked me. My body was no longer mine.

If I could write a letter to me . . .

Just wanted to disappear

I felt so useless, so worthless. I wanted to fit in--couldn't no matter how hard I tried. I wanted a family--time traveling was impossible. I wanted love--I thought I got it, but now I wasn't so sure.

I had spent my whole life thinking that Prince Charming was going to make everything okay again; but he didn't. My world wasn't perfect. He didn't stick up for me in front of the Barbies. He didn't take me away from my father. Maybe he did--psychologically.

Jordon didn't take away the scars, the pounds, the dark thoughts. He wasn't even a light at the end of a tunnel. He was just . . . numbness. He was an escape, not a healer.

I was impossible to fix. Funny, though, how I went to him for a fix of drugs.

I tripped over my feet as I went to the bathroom for my razor.

I'm bleeding where I bled

It wasn't worth it. None of it was worth it. My whole life--wasted. Nothing would ever change. I couldn't live like this anymore. I just couldn't.

I snatched the metal tool, silver glinting in the moonlight. I went ahead an ran it across my arm several times, not deep, but blood was produced, and suddenly I wasn't so scared.

I'm hiding where I hid

The last time I did this, it didn't work. I didn't cut enough. But . . . I also didn't have pills. I walked back to my night dresser for the tiny, deadly, pills. As I searched, I thought about where I should do it. Should I lock myself in, so my father would be forced to kick the door down when the stench became too much? Should I lay myself on my bed, and cover myself in rose petals? Or should he find me slumped in the bathroom, drowned in blood. Perhaps I should write the words fuck you on the bathroom mirror. Make sure he knew it was all his fault. Sure the Barbies were mean, I never had a mother, I didn't have any friends--but it was all because of him. Everything just twisted back to him. Fuck, I could just give him the pills and razor--but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I would never give him that.

I'm entertained in sicker things

I decided on the bed, but no flowers. I turned to lay on my bed, but not before I saw something sticking out between the mattresses. I hesitated for only a moment, before I snatched it up. It was a magazine of my mother. No one knew I had it but me. I had gotten it years ago, during my early rebels against my father and his rules. It had helped a lot, and used to be a nightly read. Many tears were soaked into the pages.

Should I listen to her voice once more before I ended it all?

I grabbed my laptop from under my bed, and pulled up Youtube. It was already on a song. Fifteen. I pressed the play button, and let the music overlap me.

"You take a deep breath, and you walk through the doors . . ."

Each strum vibrated my bones. Every word struck a chord in my heart.

I'm sicker than I thought

Instantly, tears were produced. I couldn't put a name on the sudden rush of emotion, but it was painful, and I didn't like it. I wanted to shut it off, I wanted to go through with my plan, but I couldn't. My mothers voice was so captivating. In a strange way it made me content. High school was so hard. Life was so hard. It was terrible how much pain was produced. I hated it. I hated it so much.

I'm fighting what I fought

I wanted my mom, I wanted my dad, I wanted someone.

"When all you wanted . . . was to be wanted . . . wish you could go back, and tell yourself what you know now"

I didn't go through with my plan that night. Instead, I lay there, curled up in a ball--the razor forgotten, the pills forgotten--listening to my mothers voice, encompassed in a strange feeling of pain and comfort.

I'm right back where I started from