Regret

I always forget. Mom says, "Wash the dishes." I forget. Mom says "Fold the clothes." I forget. Mom says "Vacuum the floor." I forget. But when mom says, "You've disappointed me as a parent." I don't forget. I don't forget to lie about meals, I don't forget to hide my wrists either.

I'm tired and angry at myself. For letting myself get smaller and smaller in the hopes that people would notice me more. But how can someone notice you if you keep getting smaller? I cut because I can't deal. It's as simple as that. The world becomes an ocean, the ocean washes over me, the sound of water is deafening, the water drowns my heart, my panic becomes as large as planets. I need to hurt myself more than the world can hurt me, and then I can comfort myself. "No guy will ever actually love you with all the scars on your body." They tell me. "You are always worried about body image yet you do this bullshit to your body." They tell me. "You're too fat, you're too tall, you're skirt is too high, your skirt is too long, you're ass is too small, why do eat so little, you eat too much, guys like a girl with some meat on their bones, show some more skin, you're showing to much skin, smile more, smile less, be more proper, you are an object." But what they don't understand is that everything they say, I never forget.

And it's these moments in time where I question life, while I sit in the dark with a knife. Piercing it into my skin until it distracts the eternal pain within my mind. How could I be so blind? So oblivious to reality, thinking someday I can be free, rescuing myself from my trauma and flee.

It's so hard to keep going, as I am no longer glowing. I lost my glow when they hurt me, when they opened my eyes and made me see the true horrors of their personalities.

But why do the worst people always win? How could they get away with all they've put me through, whilst they make me create more marks on my skin. I just wished they cared for me too. And that they could listen to me for once instead of hurting me for months. That they could just believe what I say but they continue and I slowly fade away, becoming invisible day by day.

How would I ever tell the little girl I used to be what has happened to me. They always told her, teenage years will be the best years, but they were wrong. She expected to look in the mirror and love what she sees but now dreads it as every time she does there's an 'ugly' girl staring back.

I was never good at art until the canvas became my skin. An abstract creation drew amongst my thighs, by the tool of a blade, painting a crimson red line across. Over and over again, till the drowning of my thoughts emptied through bleeding art.

Skin. Soft supple is fresh with life. Her skin feels warm to the touch. Like a warm summer day. Rough and course not so fresh with life. My skin feels cold and hard like a snowy winter day. Adrenaline rushing over my body like a blanket of guilt I lift my sleeve and make the first mark. Tears stream down my face, hyperventilation kicks in as I make the second mark. Then the third. Then the fourth.

It comes to a point where all I see are red lines covering my arms, peace finally entering my body flowing out like the sea. I wear sleeves the rest of the night hiding my once clean arms from my mother and father, worrying what they would think if they found out.

My eyes are heavy from the restless nights spent thinking. I draw in silver and the ink comes out red. Most nights I spent sitting on the cold bathroom floor over the toilet, just a little more I'd say. But just a little more was never enough. I look in the mirror, looking at my ribs and crying, it'll never be enough. I wish I were able to cry, but instead, I cut line after line, onto my thighs. Until they change the colours of wine. One more pill, one more cut. It's finally over, or is it? That little girl I used to be is now sitting in a puddle of blood, but at least I'm happy, right?

Knife in my hand, I won't let go. The addiction hits hard but my mind is too low. The gushing of red is all I care to see, not a care in the world as that feeling sets me free.