Behind This Locked Door

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                I needed something more. I was sick. I was tired. I was done. Just done. Done with my lazy, selfish, alocoholic mother that I had to care for each and every day as she beat me and used up all our money on beer; more and more filthy booze. Done with school, trying to catch up on my studies though I knew I was far behind, trying to fit in, struggling to feel normal like the rest of them. Done with drowning in misery over the death of my father every day, wondering what it would be like if he was still alive, wishing he could pop out of his grave and come save me from this horrid, horrid life. Maybe take me under with him. I'd like that. I could let go. I could...give up. For once. For once, just stop trying. Be done with everything. Feel nothing. I wanted that. I felt like I needed it. Nobody needed me here in this world, anyway, except for my mother. And she didn't deserve my help. I don't know why I put up with her every day and night. I let people walk all over me all the time. That's just who I am. Too weak and tired to put up any sort of a fight. So I decided to put an end to it. I controlled no part of my life, I had no say in anything that I did. So I decided I would finally take control of the one thing I had any power over: my death. 

Pick up the knife.

Lock the bathroom door.

No need for a note. It would matter to no one. My mother would never be sober enough to read the damn thing.

Look in the mirror. No tears. I am not sad. I am happy. Finally, I'll let go. Finally...

Carve deep into my skin. Feel nothing. Like a pumpkin. Ha.

One cut, 

Two,

Three,

Four,

Fivesixseveneightnineten.

Bleed. Smile. Let go. Finally, let go. 

Let go.

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