Through her eyes

Chapter two: Storm

      She always loved the rain. It always seemed to appear on her worst days to cry with her. The sound of the fragile drops shattering against the cement drowned out the sounds of her sobs and the thunder broke the deafening silence. 

      The truth was she had severe anxiety, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), possible BPD (borderline personality disorder) and mild depression, all of which were of course things she decided for herself. She knew you were never supposed to decide something without consulting your doctor but she knew. She knew most people didn't get so anxious on a normal basis to the point they'd hyperventilate at least twice a week, she knew most people didn't need to wait until specific times to do things, she knew most people didn't suddenly snap even if they had anger issues, she knew most people didn't spend most of the day sleeping and the rest of the day awake staring at their ceiling. 

       It was true that as a child she suffered from anger issues but snapping felt different. When she snapped she no longer felt like her body was hers, she couldn't control what she did or said but she'd feel guilt as it all happened. Her mouth and her body moved of their own accord. The littlest things set her off but none of them were things that usually set her off. 

      She knew she had some form of depression when she began to sleep for hours on end. From a very young age she suffered from insomnia and night terrors so the likelihood of her new found sleep filled days was near 100% connected to her recent states of catatonic sadness. Furthermore, there was no reason that she needed to sleep 18 hours everyday when nothing she did during the day was even close to hard labour.

      Her house was almost always making creaking sounds, her neighbours floodlights cast moving shadows that painted her walls, the sound of the tv playing from the living room was near constant and she had the constant feeling of being watched.  On an average night she would sleep for just about two and a half hours which was what made her sleeping for eighteen hours so peculiar. 

      She'd been having horrible thoughts about herself, doubting her self-worth. She began to see a light at the end of the tunnel, it seemed as though she may have been skipped over by the storm. But the storm finally arrived one midsummer morning, with a badly timed, horribly worded comment.

      "If she's a backup person, she doesn't even need to be there. She'll be useless." 

       Useless.

                                                                     UseLESS

                                Useless.

                                                                                                           USELESS

      The final word played in her head as she plastered a smile onto her face and got dressed into her fanciest clothes. Maybe, she thought, maybe I really am useless. That was the night she sat on her bed, staring at her white wall, gripping a piece of glass in her hand. And then the glass came down, over and over again until eight bleeding lines adorned her arm and salt-filled tears stained her cheeks.

      The lines didn't fade for weeks, they left behind jagged scabs and a few even left scars. She continued on with daily life, she pretended to be happy, faking a smile all the way. When someone noticed the lines she said she'd tripped and skidded across the gym floor which had a few jagged rocks, somehow everyone believed her story, that was how she knew they didn't really care... they hadn't used the gym class in two weeks and the lines were visibly fresh.