I cut into my icy skin, the sharp blade easily penetrating my wrist.
I sigh at the pain that stings my wound, welcoming the feed of my addiction.
Hello, it hums, the blade digging deeper into my veins.
My eyes slowly close, embracing the momentary feeling that reduces the pain on the inside; the monster that is my brain.
Depression, and its ugly neighbors that float around with it. These illnesses occupy my mind these days.
I see everyone breathing, while I feel I am drowning. Cutting, is my breathing.
From the first cut, I was addicted. Maybe it was the power that was so exciting. The power my hand held as it guided the blade. Maybe it was the release I felt when my blood fell, dropping on the cold tile floor.
I clean my mess moments later, caring to my wound to make sure it was healed for next time. As I think about next time, I resist the urge to pull the blade back out, cutting a different part of my cold body.
I climb into the shower I had running, and stand under the burning water. It tickles down my back, marking it with red stains. Hello, the hot pain whispers. I, of course, welcome it happily.
As I step out, wrapping my small body with an uncomfortably soft towel, I make my way to my room.
I don't bother turning on the light, the darkness my home. I dress. Baggy, long- sleeved clothes.
I climb into my bed, hiding myself in the sheets. Hello, it warms at my touch, calling me to stay forever. No reason to ever get up again.
I contine to have this debate everyday. Should I get up, or should I not.
However pleasing it would be to stay in bed forever, I always find my way out. I have to. My bed is the place where my thoughts seem to consume me. It's where I seem to lay in a puddle of self hate and sadness, adding even more reasons to cut. Not that I minded anyway.
I hear a soft knock at my door. "Kaycee," the door is pushed open slightly, a head poking in. Sean, my-- well-- just my Sean.
I place a painfully fake smile on my lips, turning over to his voice. "Hey," my voice comes out thick and foreign.
"Can't sleep," he simply states, walking to my bed. I scoot over, understanding.
He lays beside me, radiating heat towards my body. I turn over again, scooting farther away from him.
"Kayc," he whispers, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against him.
"Hmmm," I murmur, hoping he will sleep soon.
"You haven't been yourself lately, I'm worried about you," he whispers into my hair, making me shiver.
That's when it hits, you're worthless, you're ugly, you're a waist of space, you're annoying. No one likes you, everyone wishes you weren't here. No one would notice if you were gone.
"I want to help you," Sean says, bringing me back to reality, even though it's probably short lived.
I sigh, realizing he sees more then I thought, "You can't Sean, this isn't something you can just fix."
I feel him tighten his arm around me, running his hands down my arm before stopping at my wrist.
My breath hitches in my throat when he pulls back my sleeve before I can stop him, revealing my scars and fresh wounds.
I push his hand away, rolling the sleeve back down.
"Look at me, Kayc," I can hear the sadness in his voice.
I turn slowly, then all the way around. He cups my face in his hand, searching my eyes.
I see the tears in his, fresh and hurtful. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the beautiful boy in pain.
"We can get you help, Kaycee. I will be here, through it all."
I snap my eyes open, pulling back. "What if I don't want help."
He swallows,"What do you want?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, imaging the blade in my small hands. That's what I want.
When I open my eyes again, I realize the wetness on my cheeks, my vision blurry. You want to cut, you want to cut, you want to cut.
I breath out, shaky and fearful. "I need help, Sean." I hear my voice crack.
Sean nods, squeezing my hands. "I'm here for you, always," he kisses my forehead, hugging me close.
I, for the first time, relax into him. My sobs rip through my body, relasing all my anger and pain in one.
I want the balde less now, though the urge and hunger is still there. It won't go away, for a while, maybe never.
But, as I soak Sean's shirt with my broken tears, I understand that I do need help. I don't want it, and I probably never will, but I need it.
New hope feels within me, maybe I can breathe the way other people breathe. Maybe my fake smile could be real. Maybe I could learn to love Sean, the way I know I do deep down.
Maybe, just maybe, I won't have to cut.
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A/n, sorry if there are any typos.
Let me know what you think, did you like it? Sorry it's sad lol. :) ❤
ps, this is kinda inspired by ilybronksxx bc she is absolutely amazing and after reading her stories, I came up with this so, yeah ahah :) ❤
