Drowning

"It was too good to be true. And suddenly I was drowning in his water of lies..."

Him. Her. The monster. It controlled you, it consumed you. The feeling of wanting control.. I put the blade down, and watched the blood drip from my forearm. I looked in the mirror and saw the dark circles under my eyes. It felt so good, to feel free for a moment. The pain wasn't there, all I felt was being in control.

I realized I was addicted. It was something that never occurred to me. Cutting is an addiction. In the beginning it felt great. I remember looking in the mirror at the cuts on my skin, my arms, my stomach, my legs. I thought they were beautiful, it was a work of art. I was finally okay. I felt like I was getting better, but it was all a lie. A hoax that my own mind conjured up to distract me from what I was really doing.
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My alarm clock went off. I got up, it felt like I barely had an hour of sleep. I remember crying until I had a headache. I don't think I actually slept, I just tossed and turned. I was so tired, I was tired of being treated this way, tired of feeling helpless, tired of being 'depressed.' "I'm tired of being tired." I said out loud.

Maybe I was depressed. Depressed. When I was younger, I thought depression wasn't real. The people who were 'diagnosed' with clinical depression were too selfish to just get out of bed and be happy on their own. However, I was so lost I didn't even know if I was depressed. I wasn't sad, definitely wasn't happy, I felt empty. That was the only way I could describe it.

I managed to get out of bed, and walked to school. I stopped eating breakfast. It took too much time in the morning. Considering the lack of sleep I get, I want to be able to sleep in as long as possible. So skipping a meal helps. Although, I just haven't been hungry lately. I ate lunch, but I never seemed to be in the mood for dinner. I don't know why, maybe being sad just took away my hungriness. Which isn't all bad, I needed to knock off a few pounds anyways, then maybe I would be happy with myself.

School wasn't terrible, I actually enjoyed it. It got me away from home, kept my mind off things. Which was good, being in a war with your own head is a little tiring. You know you can never win, yet you're too stubborn to give up. So you keep fighting. That's what I did. And for a while, I thought I was winning. I thought...

My friends were in most of my classes, I was always 'happy' with my friends. I would fake my smiles, and my laughs. Every now and then I'd crack, but I'd always manage to keep the lie going. Sometimes, they would actually make me happy and I'd forget, but later I'd remember.

I was tired of this. I wanted control of my feelings. If I can't control what people are doing to me, I need to be able to control something. Pain. That was my first thought. Looking back now, I wish my friends knew. I wish someone knew what was happening. So they could have told me not to do what I did. But back then, I believed it was my fault, all of it. Getting treated that way, being hated by my own family. I deserved it. If someone could have said "Emily, you're better than this..."

Instead, I made my first cut.

*One

*Two

*Three

"I'm not feeling the pain anymore, it doesn't sting. This is wonderful." I thought to myself

*Four

*Five

*Six

I remember finding the pain and the release of blood strangely addicting. So much blood, I never realized how the color of blood was so interesting.

*Twenty-six

"I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, I can't feel anything except for the feeling that I am in control. I started crying because I knew what I was doing, yet I didn't want to stop."

*Forty-nine

I heard a voice, it said "keep going, the deeper the cuts the better, the prettier you'll be covered in scars. It feels great doesn't it? You are now in control of the pain. Keep going." It was him, the monster inside my own mind. I didn't know that then.

*Sixty- two

My vision started to blur, the sink was covered in blood. I don't even know how deep the cuts were. My wrists were destroyed, along with my thighs, and my stomach. Too late to regret anything. Depression comes in waves, I would say. Sometimes the tide was low, and sometimes it was high. That night I was drowning in a water of lies. His lies, the monster's. Little did I know, the monster was me.