Depression Kills

Chapter 8

I woke up that morning with a chill running down me. The spot where Marc was is now empty. I lifted myself up and stepped out of my bed. I decided to get ready since today was sort of a big day.  Somehow I  went back to my old ways. I self-harmed. I felt so weak. I didn't feel safe today.

I walked towards my bathroom. Carefully and unaware of what I was doing. I leaned against the sink looking myself in the eyes through the mirror. 'What am I doing? You don't need to do this!' It went through my mind over and over.  I took my razor and cracked it open stealing the blades. I took two at a time along my wrist. I gasped at the pain at first, letting the tears roll down my face. One droplet hitting the floor at once. It's been forever since I cut, or for me it felt like it. It was nice. I forgot about today. I aching pain and flowing blood was nice. Every now and then I'd turn on my faucet. I'd let the hot water flow against the new opened wounds. I bit my bottom lip holding in a scream I didn't want Marc to hear. Then I'd do it over and over again. Cut, hot water, cut, hot water. It went on until there was no where else on my arm to make a mark.

I took a towel and firmly pressed it against my arm, stopping the blood. I then bent down to the floor and used it to clean the tears and blood left of the floor. I slowly got up. I loved the burn on my arm, call me crazy, but it  left me with nothing else to worry about. I switched off the light and walked back into my room. I placed on my white bloody cami and over put on a flannel. I left the sleeves down so Marc couldn't see the damage done. I walked to my vanity  and did my makeup, continuing by  doing my hair. I got carried away. The burst of pain in my arm began to flow away.  I placed my flat iron on the top of the vanity and rolled up my sleeve. Picking it up again I pressed it against the cuts letting out a quiet squeal. I'd do a strand of hair, then my arm. This contined until my hair was done.

I rolled my sleeve back down before I was tempted to look at the damage. I unplugged my hair iron  and threw it across my room. It hit against the wall leaving a dent. I had no idea why I did it. I had everything I ever could've wanted before! Why wasn't I happy?! Maybe I was everything those people said before. Maybe I was an attention whore. I  didn't know.  But I didn't do it  for attention. I did it for myself, my escape.

I walked out of my room to see Marc on the coach just starring at the wall. He looked like he was in pain and trying to hold everything back. He was just starring into space. I walked along the room to the coach. I glided my fingers along he cusion then sat down. I looked at him. He never looked back. I reached across him and hugged him, I wanted him to know we were alright. He let out a sob. The was the first I've seen him cry. He held it back for so long that he couldn't stay positive anymore. We weren't alright. This was going to be one of the hardest days we've had on a while. We weren't ready.