Daddy Issues - Johnnyboy

27; We get what we deserve, so way down we go.

"You're gonna have to! And if you don't, shit is just gonna get fucking worse for you!" He threw his hands up and then smacked them back down to his thighs.

"What is it with you guys trying to get shit out of me!? Don't you realize that I don't wanna talk about shit like this to people who have no idea what the fuck I'm even talking about!"

"Try me!" He put his hands on his hips and raised his brows, waiting impatiently.

"What the hell makes you think that I want you guys to know?! Then it's just gonna be worse because then I'll have to be treated differently because 'I'm sensitive' and I'll get fucking triggered by anything and everything! You guys seriously want to deal with that kind of shit!? I don't think you do, trust me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! People are trying to help you! I thought you realized that with Darry screaming at you, now I have to do it!? What does it fucking take, for you to believe that you are worthy of care and love, and pure decency in general?! What do I have to do!? Tell me Johnny! Help me under-fucking-stand!"

"I don't know," I whispered, my thoughts were everywhere, I couldn't catch my train of thoughts.

"What? Speak up,"

"I don't know!" I yelled, my eyes started to form tears in them but right now I had no time for tears, none at all.

"Yes you do! You know what you want! Tell me, dammit!"
Fuck this.

"I want you to listen to me! Fucking listen to what I have to say and then just think! Don't criticize me for the things I say, don't judge me for the things that I have done, just . . . Listen." He sat down after my outburst and sighed.

"Okay. I'm gonna listen, but start from the beginning."

"What do you mean?"

"Start from when you first ever really self harmed, and so on -" I sat down then but on the floor, next to him.

"Just . . . It just hit me, the day that I found out my dad had died, I completely lost it. Every bit of self control I had, was gone, and I just did what I needed to keep me going. It was like an unmistakable urge to self destruct, For the same reason as always."

"Well I do, you're experiencing trauma, Johnny. That's okay." I sighed at his words, and nodded.

"Honestly, maybe it was because I locked myself away while others lived like nothing was ever happening and we were all okay. Maybe it was because I could never identify each emotion I was really feeling, they always just seem to be scattered around."

I stared for a few seconds before I felt my chest start to boil in anger underneath my skin. "All I knew how to do was to feel absolutely nothing, or feel everything all at once or continue to degrade every decision that my mind comes up with." I decided then that I didn't want to sit down, so I got up and started to pace, while he stared at me on the bed.

"When I'm alone is when the choice between physical pain becomes a decision easily made by my mind while the logical side is literally fucking gone." I was ranting at this point, but he looked so interested in what I had to say so I continued.

"You never really think when you're the person holding the instrument of mutilation. To be completely honest, you never really think at all when you do it, you just focus on the adrenaline rush it gives you. The thought of this being your last cut doesn't even phase you, because you had accepted this gift, this thing that could finally calm you down."

"You're. . . not like that, aren't you?"

"I don't . . . I think so." I whispered. I leaned against his wall and just stayed put instead of pacing around.

"Once the feeling of the pleasure leaves the scene, you are stuck realizing what you just did. But there's a level of numbness that makes it so intoxicating, the slick of the blades tongue gliding across the skin was enough to give goosebumps. It was the worst coping mechanism but it the best at putting your nerves at ease. Every time you're done slicing yourself open from pore to pore, you feel numb, and you don't care about anything or anyone anymore. It about that wound you fucking deserved.  "

"For the longest time I hid it fairly well from everyone, quite successfully until two caught. Through the whole process I tried to keep my chin up and smile through this goddamn world,  because then everything would be okay. I was good at it. . . hiding. . ." I know I shouldn't be smiling about this but, Honestly, it was better than crying over it.

"I cant remember the moment I thought self harm was the answer, I never really stopped to think to what brought me to that kind of self harm. There was drugs, which we are obviously familiar with, eating disorders, types of reckless behavior, carrying on abusive relationships, etc etc. But of course now, of all times, I can really think about the why's and the how's." Ponyboy was sitting silently, keeping his mouth shut tight, taking my every word in consideration and thought, I could sense that he though, did feel a little over whelmed with things.

"I live in a world where pain is more comforting to me than sleep! And the feeling of losing blood brings more relaxation than a quiet room ever could! The peace of knowing you're not going to make it, is far more tranquilizing than the relief of a normal person would feel, just by knowing you were going to make it."

"Most are scared of dying, especially in a way more depressing method as doing it to yourself. But this, this is my world; my own personal world that I've been living in since I was destroyed at seven years old! And I grow up wanting nothing more than to hold hands with the devil himself, leaving no trace that I was ever 'okay' !

And the sad part about it is . . . I dont fucking care. Because i dont matter
And I never have.