I didn't take my meds today.
Two days ago Caitlin Adams asked if I was bipolar because I was into her on Monday but by Friday I had figured out that she was too demanding.
But those words, that question... it seeped into my soul and tarnished my tho...
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The first drop landed on the bathroom floor. Bright red against the white porcelain tile, it made quite the contrast. It splashed and made an asymmetrical shape.
I didn't cut deep enough.
The second drop poured, it fell from my body and again splashed onto the floor but this time it rolled slowly and thickly, soaking into the mortar around the tile.
You know what my thoughts were on when I was watching my wrists bleed out at eight years old?
The literal mess that I was making for my father. He never cleaned a day in his life, that was my job. Yet here I was, leaving him with stains he would have to bleach clean, a body he would have to remove somehow and clothes he would have to throw away.
I clutched the blunted blade shakily between my fingers, rusted and snapped but still sharp enough to cut through layers of skin. I stole it four weeks ago from my fathers shaving stash.
I was eight.
Shown how to end my life by my own mother. I just didn't cut deep enough.
My eyes opened and I immediately grabbed my wrists, touching the scars of my several attempts.
All those thoughts and feelings flooded back to me like the puddles of blood gathering on my fathers bathroom floor.
It was a cycle.
I'd have up days and then I'd have these feelings of uncontentment, days where my fathers voice spoke loudest. He made me feel like a failure and because of that I wanted to hurt myself. No, I wanted to more than hurt myself.
I wanted to kill myself.
I wanted to end all of the pressure to be perfect. I wanted to die so God could judge me and I could beg for forgiveness. I wanted to get away from my own thoughts and find eternal peace.
I thought about the blade I had hidden behind my dresser and I was about to get out of bed when my phone illuminated the room with a purple hue, I glanced over at it and furrowed my brows. The notifications were rolling in but it was three thirty in the morning. Who the heck was awake at this hour?
I grabbed my phone, lowered down the brightness and read over the notification bars clogging up my screen.
@TheArloPeers has uploaded to Instagram. @TheArloPeers has uploaded to Instagram. @TheArloPeers has uploaded to Instagram.
I debated swiping them away. At the meal, he was super mad at me and I didn't blame him for that - after all, it's what I wanted. But that was three days ago and his mood hadn't simmered down.
Fuck it.
I opened it up, his feed was covered in pictures of himself. New pictures of himself with more and more getting uploaded by the minute. My eyes widened at the thirsty display in front of me. It was like a tame onlyfans account.
