Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. I watched the red liquid leave my arm and fall unto the floor of my bathroom. 24. That's how many lines I added to my collection today. Each one bringing me a sense of relief. Each a reminder that I still feel pain. That I'm still alive.
The problem with all this, is don't like the fact I'm alive. My mind has corrupted me into believing of a world that isn't full of heartache and disappointment. I didn't get a manual telling me that I was going to be the disappointment or that I would be the reason as to why no one likes me.
Blinking back the tears, I put down my blade as carefully as possible not wanting to damage it on to the sink. I already had a rag set out so there would be no evidence of my actions. I sat down in the corner of my bathroom and broke. I broke into a mess of tears and blood; wishing that there was a reason for me to keep going.
I have no friends. My single mother hates me. Even I hate me. Every Time I look in a mirror or feel a slight bit of happiness, I am reminded that I am not and will not ever be pretty. I will never be worth someones time. Besides who would want to help or even like someone that slits cuts into her skin to feel alive?
I'm fucked up. I know.
"Ugly" I know...
"Slut" I know...
"No one will ever love you" I know..
" Bitch" I know...
"Fat" I know...
"Why do you even try anymore?"
That is something I don't know. But please don't sweat yourself. I'll end it all soon. When I'm not weak, when I can stand up to the bottle of pills and pore them into my hand, when I can find the guts to put them in my mouth and swallow. Then you won't have to waste your breath on me. I wouldn't want to spend my time wasting it either.
ВИ ЧИТАЄТЕ
Happiness isn't always the only thing.
ФанфікиThree months. Three. Months. That's how long it's been since it happened. That's how long it's been since the last time I actually slept peacefully. That's how long it's been since I would eat willingly. That's how long it's been since I actually...
