She's only run the blade the length of her arm once more.
Just once. Then she'd be done with this.
That's what she said the night before.
And the night before that. And the one before that.
Something always brought her back to this. A blade. It didn't matter what kind she'd used, it all hurt the same. She'd been doing it for so long it didn't really hurt, not anymore. She wanted to stop. She wanted to get better. She wanted to not hurt herself. She'd never wanted to end up like this.
If I just died. Right now. I wouldn't to deal with this anymore. I wouldn't have to deal with not even trying to be happy and just trying not to let the pain show on my face.
"I can't just be unloved." I whispered. Though college seems to be the most unloving thing on the planet. Then there's potential. If you feel unloved, theres always room for improvement. You could be loved-Just hold on a little longer. She'd told herself this last night too. And the night before that. And the night before the night before. Sometime, the lies were going to get less and less believeable. One day she was going to stop believeing them. I realized this. Tonight's just not going to that night, because right now my lazy ass is too lazy to die. I smiled but maybe grimaced(I hadn't been known to smile for...ever, pretty much I forgot what it felt like), as I rewrapped the gauze on my wrist and cleaned the sink with rubbing alcohol to get rid of the smell and the possible suspicion. I looked at my ice-blue eyes in the mirror, pale skin, sort of half-emo-half-normal haircut, bangs that cut diagonally across my face. But that was the only emo part of it. I wasn't super ugly or super hot. I was just forgetable. Not really noticeable or notable.
I looked at my ribs which very clearly cut as if from stone, and if I found one little inch of fat I wouldn't eat for another week. A flat stomach, a thigh-gap, hip bones. It didn't matter to me. Baggy jeans covered my thighs, shirts that were only slightly bigger than my actual size covered how thin I appeared but still so that it showed I had a figure. You know, boobs and all that girly stuff I don't really give a shit about. I put the blade away. Threw a shirt on over the sports bra I had had on while doing...that. I hadn't wanted to get blood all over my shirt. Again.
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The wonderful Colors of Depression
Teen FictionThe wonderful Colors of Depression is more about loss and how one girl who doesn't think she is special, or pretty, or worth much of a thought from anyone. She thinks about suicide all the time. She doesn't know who to trust. Who cares if she ever c...
