Mentally Broken

15

Chapter song: Skyscraper by Demi Lovato
"W-We should go...We have a meeting," Justin breaks all contact as we walk into the room and take our seats. I'm still sniffling and drying my eyes with my damp jacket sleeve.
"Alright, everybody, today we'll be discussing self esteem. We need to raise our self esteems and think better of ourselves. You're worth something. Just be yourself."
Blah blah blah. This is total bullshit. First of all, my self esteem was destroyed years ago. Secondly, I can't think better of myself when I fucked up my own life and caused so many people to deal with me. Thirdly, I'm not worth shit to anyone. Lastly, I can't be my fucking self. The truth for ME is that being myself just makes everything worse. Wether I be myself or try to change, I still feel fucking worthless. The honest truth is that no matter how hard I try, I'm still going see flaws. I'm always going to be trying to reach perfection. I'm never going to be good enough. I'll never have the perfect hair, flawless face, size 0 in everything, and nice smile. I'll never be normal, like I've always wanted. It's just how it is. It's bullshit. But it's life. I've been there, and it's pointless. I'm just trying to impress myself now since there's nothing to live for anymore. It's not working well either.

"Mia...are you alright?" Justin breaks my thoughts, but his eyes aren't on me. "Yeah," I nod and dry my eyes again, which seem to never run out of tears.
"C'mere, l-let's talk." Justin and I sit in our corner of the room. I sit close to him and lean against his shoulder since no one is paying attention to us.
"...They brought me upstairs into an empty room. I get why it's called the quiet room, because it's so quiet in there. They treated me like a fucking prisoner. They threatened me and forced me to eat. It felt horrible. I don't know why I did that. I was just sick of everything, sick of living," I narrow my eyes and mutter for only us to hear. It feels amazing to have someone who listens and genuinely cares about my feelings. I feel as if we're the only people here. Our closeness is so rebellious yet risky.
"...Damn, I'm s-sorry you had to go through that, Mia...You deserve better," Justin sneaks his arm around me and cautiously strokes my shoulder.
"Thank you, Justin," I calm myself for the millionth time, and press my cheek against his warmth. I close my eyes and let my mind run in silence as Justin does the same.
-Wednesday, 12pm-
I'm so tired and sore. I'm still taken back by what happened. Like I said, I'm fucking invisible.

Nobody has noticed me and Justin sitting here, TOUCHING in the corner. But yet, once I try to kill myself, they notice. People only care about me when I'm close to dying. What am I kidding? They don't care about me at all. They don't have a choice but to prevent people from hurting themselves. They just don't want to get in trouble for not doing their job.
"I-I wish I c-could get you out of here," Justin speaks quietly, and I can smell the mint on his breath.
"I just want to die," I whisper in his jacket. He smells of strong medicine but has a toasty marshmallow scent to him. It makes me press myself closer to him.
"...Don't say that, Mia. I'll get you out of here one day. I-It just takes patience," he distantly holds my hand and intertwines our fingers.
"Love is in the air," Jake snickers loud to be heard from his table of friends. I roll my eyes and glare at all of them. They can all go to hell for all I care.
"Freaks and pretty girls like you don't go together," Jake winks at me, making my temper rise.
"Shut up!" I snap, not letting go of Justin's hand.
"It's true—" "Leave us alone, asshole," I glare before getting up and walking out with Justin for lunch. We avoid Jake and his friends, and continue our normal routine. I get an apple, which Justin will mostly eat, and Justin gets a small bowl of Cap'n Crunch.

Justin and I eat in a different silence. It's painful and killing us. I know he's disturbed by Jake, and it makes me worry. Justin's sort of like me, he's quick to believe the crap that people say. If he believes he's a freak, he should think about what he's done for me. Justin's the only one who's comforted me. Yes, he talks to himself and lives in a different world, but we're all in here for a reason. Jake thinks Justin's a freak? Look at me, I'm soo not pretty. I'm a fucking failure. I'm nothing but an ugly, fat, depressed, sick failure.
I have proof too; I'm not dead.

After a quiet lunch, we reenter the meeting/hangout room to hang out.
"You're not a freak, Justin. You know? You're an amazing person. You're my best friend, and you do a good job at it," I carefully put my hand in Justin's.
"...D-Do I really?" he smiles weakly, flinching a little for an unknown reason. "Yeah, you're all I need. You're keeping me sane at this point," I tuck myself in his arm again, holding him close.
"...I-I d-didn't think I meant that much to y-you." His lips crack a slight smile.
"Well, you do," I close my eyes and try to focus on resting my mind for once. All I can think of is suicide. That's my only salvation. That's my only source of happiness.
"L-Let's do something...Do you want to paint?" Justin breaks through my suicidal thoughts.
"Ok," I nod so we stand up. "Let's do something different. How about hand painting?" I suggest. He only nods, fidgeting with his jacket pockets. A smile replaces my depressed frown. It's the biggest I've smiled in a while.
"Let's do it," I pull out the paint tubs as Justin gets out 2 sheets of white paper. "Actually, I was thinking we should do one together," I suddenly get nervous and shy. Maybe I'm feeling more than just sanity with Justin. Maybe he's something more than a friend.
"Fine with me," he smiles warmly and sets a big piece of paper on the table. I line up the paints in rainbow color order.
"Which paints should we use?"
I stand comfortably next to Justin.
"Let's use all of them, make it rainbow colored," Justin smiles, and I smile back in the same, broken manner. We then pour the paints onto separate paper plates by color and lined them on the table.
"We can take turns," I tuck my hair behind my ears and roll up my sleeves. It feels awkward with cuts and scars covered all over my wrists. I feel like I'm the only one with self inflicted arms. But I'm comfortable with Justin, because he doesn't judge.
"I'll start," I volunteer before pressing my hand into the red paint, then place it at the top left hand corner of the paper. As I wipe my hand clean, Justin dips his palm into the orange paint and presses it next to my red handprint on the paper. I do the same with the yellow paint; then Justin copies me with the green paint. He does it slow with excess concentration. We continue to paint our handprints on the paper until every color of paint is printed. When we finish, our work is perfect. Of course, my handprints are smaller than Justin's, but it still looks flawless.
"It looks so good," I wash all the paint off my hands and smile proudly. "W-We should hang it up," Justin washes his hands too, agreeing with me. "Can we?" I look at him with amazement. My heart tries to lighten up, but my depression keeps pulling it down. It's like I feel so happy at times, but it's not real. The sadness wins every time.
"Of course," he nods and pulls his sleeves down. I pull mine down too then smile, feeling more secure.

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(A/N: Once again I'm sorry for the holdup. And if you don't know yet, today is #10yearsofkidrauhl and I'm way past emotional 😭 But I'm also proud😊 Next post is on Tuesday/Wednesday)

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