Trigger warning in this chapter: talking about depression, anxiety, selfharm, Ed
My eyes slowly openend, I supported myself sitting up against the wall. I looked in front of me, staring outside. A silent tear fell down my cheek. I always feel so weak after a panic attack. I hate it. I hate it.
I kept staring in front of me, trying to find the courage to stand up and after a few minutes I do.
I quietly walk to the bathroom with my bag, locking the door behind me. I grabbed my only pajamas, then looked for a towel. Finding the towel, I turned on the shower. I began undressing looking in the mirror in disgust. I have scars all over my body. Then also everything from last night. Bruises covered my whole body. I rubbed the concealer away, now you could also see the hand around my neck. The cuts over my body we nowhere near healing.
I think that they might be infected. Some cuts leaked blood from the moving I did today. My ribs were black and blue. I gently touched them, immediately shrieking away from the pain. I looked back at my face. I have big dark circles under my eyes, my hair is a mess. I look broken, my eyes are filled with so many emotions that I can't even count them.
They always say the eyes hold the most emotions or that they're the window to the soul. My eyes just looked broken. I look broken. My eyes hold so much pain. Pain I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. I look back at my body, you can see my bones sticking out. My ribs you can count them. The scars, the bones, the cuts,.. so much.
Some say that your scars make you beautiful that they show you what you've been trough, they show how strong you are. But for me, that's a whole different story, I don't like them, I don't think they make me strong. I hate them.
I look away from the mirror and walk in the shower, turning the water too hot. The water is burning my skin, but I don't care, I need to feel the pain it helps. I begin washing myself, getting lost in thought once more.
Then you have the mental problems with me. The panic attacks, the anxiety, the depression, eating disorders and self harm.
The anxiety that comes when I'm in large crowds or when I'm with older people or men. It's this trigger. Everything in your everyday life can be a trigger for me. It hurts me, it really does. I remember the times when random men came over, they hurt me, scare me, so much more. Hearing people yell, argue it's a trigger one that hurts me the most. I get nervous, anxious. This crippling anxiety that creeps up my spine. Thoughts that haunt my everyday life.
The depression. The depression, anyone that's has gone through it knows it's not just sadness. There are days I don't feel, I don't feel anything. Days when I just stare at the wall, numb not feeling anything. There are days I cry myself to sleep. I don't sleep. I don't eat. I overthink every move and single moment in my life. You're slowly losing yourself, and there's nothing you can do about it.
I can't remember the last time I was really happy. I'm just tired. I'm so tired. I want to lie down, fall asleep and never wake up again. I'm silently crying for help but nobody notices. I want help, but at the same time I don't want it. I say 'I'm fine' and hope they believe it. Even if they don't, nobody cares, they're just trying to be nice.
I know I'm messed up, and that I should do better. But I just...can't. I don't know why or how. And it makes me so mad that those abusive pieces of shit made me like this.
Then you have the self harm. There are many ways you can self harm. The most common one for me is cutting. You know why I cut. Because it's a distraction. For one moment I don't feel all the pain, the loss, the hurt. All I feel is the razor going into my skin, the blood dripping down my arm, leg, stomach. I don't think about how alone, ugly, stupid,...I am. I don't think about those abusive asses. I don't think about how people are talking behind my back. All I think about is the blood and the pain.
And the addicting part? Well that's when all the hurt and pain comes back. When the cut isn't fresh and you can feel the build up of sadness and loneliness inside you. So you have to do it again, but a little deeper so the numbness will last longer. The pain inside will be delayed longer. And as the pain inside gets worse and worse, you do more and more damage. It's all about control. You have it. You can't control the pain inside so you get to control the pain on the outside. Another reason why I cut is because there are just periods of time where I am just so numb I just need to feel anything so the only way to do feel something is to cut.
I know it's bad and stuff but I don't care. I only care about the pain that makes other things stop. It helps, its a relief. And I don't think I'll ever properly function without the ability to cut. Or in the shower I put the water on the coldest or hottest temperature. Pulling your hair just too hard. Digging your nails into the palms of your hand a little too deep. Eating too little or too much. There are so many ways.
I'm just unlucky that I got addicted to a losing game. A game I'll never ever win. I look in the mirror and hate what I see. I avoid the mirror as much as I can, because I don't want to feel the pain when I do look.
I am failing, I am tired. And I don't know how much longer I will be able to put this act up. I just need the pain to stop. I need everything to stop. I don't want to do this anymore.
I kind of had control in my old life, but now with these new people I have no clue. And I'm terrified of that. I act like I don't care like nothing can actually hurt me. I put up a wall of toughness and I pretend everything is fine. Acting like I don't need help with my problems. But in reality I'm just scared. I'm scared of not being good enough and scared of getting hurt even more then I already am now.
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I step out of the shower after washing myself, for the first time ever with soap. I wipe away the tears that escaped my eyes. I avoid the mirror and get dressed. I brush my teeth and comb my hair before I walk back in the bedroom and unpack all my stuff.
In my walk in closet isn't much. I have 1 pair of jeans, 1 pair of sweatpants (which I'm wearing right now), two T-shirts (one wearing right now) and lastly 2 hoodies (one of them I'm wearing right now). I have 2 pairs of underwear, so I need to wash them everyday. All my clothes are old and worn out with holes. My only pair of shoes are also back in the closet, same goes for my backpack.
On my bookshelf I have my books, that I found in trash backs sometimes and my school books. On my desk are my art supplies and my music. In the bathroom I have my toothbrush and comb. That's all I have it's not much but it's enough to be alive. You may wonder where I have my art supplies from and my music papers. Well my art supplies, I got them from Atlas and Amy. While my music papers come from school. I looked at the clock before jumping in bed. I'm just hoping I won't get any nightmares.