Write In My Heart

Chapter Five: Half-Truths

*content warning* this chapter includes brief mentions of self-harm and suicidal ideation, so read at your own risk*

I never wanted to die more than I did that night, but I couldn't show that of course.

So, after parking in the very back of a Walmart parking lot, I cried. God, did I cry. And screamed. And cursed myself. And I scratched my thighs until I bled, an old habit that was rearing its head after being gone for a year. Yet, despite how disgusted and weak I felt for falling back into self-harming, I'd much rather feel that pain and smell the blood instead of the abstract feeling of shame and hatred. But no matter how deep I scratched or how loud I screamed or how many tears I cried, the feeling was still there.

Not only had I caused irreversible damage in that small bedroom, but my worst nightmare had come true.

I'd lost my best friend for good.

My mind was in nonsensical shambles, and my whole body felt numb. I wanted to claw my very soul out of my body and disappear, but that wasn't an option. I was forced to feel, something that I really couldn't afford to do.

So, after soaking up the blood that was running down my leg with some napkins and wiping my face, I drove back home, trying to ignore the violent way my hands were still shaking and the headache that relentlessly pounded from behind my eyes.

The only good thing that came from my depressive state last year was that I became good at coming up with stories that could mask the severity of the situation. My parents were observant and noticed when things were wrong, yes, but they weren't quick to call bs on certain explanations, as long as they made logical sense in some capacity. So it wasn't hard to ease their worries when I walked into the living room once I was home.

My mom's attention was instantly drawn to my puffy features and red-rimmed eyes. A look of concern etched itself on her face as she quickly rose to her feet to examine me. "Baby, what's wrong? Did something happen over at John's?" She took my face in her hands and started examining me, much like I had with Johnathan when he'd come to class with a battered face. The very thought made my heart sink.

I shook my head as I gently pulled out of her embrace. "No mom, they just had some chrysanthemums at their house and, well we know I don't react well to those, so I came home early."

"That explains all the puffiness," my mother muttered to herself as she gently touched the enlarged bags under my eyes.

"How are you feeling? Is it hard to breathe or anything?" My father asked as he too stood up from his sitting position on the couch to examine me.

I shook my head even though I was finding it increasingly hard to breathe in their presence and pretend that everything was ok. "No, I'm...I'm okay. I haven't had a bad reaction in a while, it's just my eyes and my head."

My father looked me over for a moment before he nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

"Well, honey, you should lay down with a cool towel and–"

"No," I answered, a bit quicker than I'd meant to. I quickly cleared my throat as I shook my head. "I mean, uh, what are you guys watching? I have too much energy to go to sleep."

My mom smiled as she led me back to the couch. "Oh, well we're watching 'Edward Scissorhands', your favorite movie!"

"You finally got dad to watch it?" I asked as I settled between them. I'd been trying for a while to get my father to watch the movie that had secured itself the title of my favorite of all time, but he'd always refused.

"It's okay," he begrudgingly stated, though I knew that that secretly meant that he liked it.

I tried burying myself in my favorite movie with the people that I loved. And once that I over, I ventured into my sister's room to play whatever childish game with her that she wanted me to play that required playing with dolls and speaking in weird voices to make her laugh. I continued to find distractions for myself, trying to force myself to push down the soul-crushing thoughts that were circling my brain like crows, waiting for the perfect moment to pick me apart in my most delicate state.