Controlled

Chapter 4

*Trigger Warning*

Self-harm is included in this chapter. If you think this could trigger you, please do not read. I do not want you to hurt yourself because of this. If you want to continue reading this story, but you are afraid to be triggered by this, message me (the-realistic-ending) and I will send you this chapter but instead of any description I will just state what happens. I DO NOT want to trigger anybody, so if there's a chance that it will trigger you, please do not read this.

Thank you.

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It had been almost 3 weeks since the mall ordeal, and Jack was still talking to me. Surprising, I know. I mean, who would want to talk to some fatty like me? No one in their right mind. But I was grateful for it. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends, but they might have just been staying friends with me because they felt bad. I mean, we've been friends for a while and it'd just be wrong to leave because I was so fat. Right?

It was 2 am and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't sleep while my mind was racing. Everything from the past year came back. Those hurtful words that were being thrown at me, the looks I got in the hallways, the moo-ing, the formspring questions, they all started less than a year ago. I don't know what I did to deserve this. I didn't even do anything!

The tears started streaming down my face, and they just wouldn't stop. I wiped them away with my sweatshirt sleeve, getting up and walking over to my desk. I grabbed my laptop and returned to my bed, opening it up and turning it on. I sat there, waiting for it to heat up so I could go to her URL. I typed it in, the loading bar signaling that I was almost there.

Her diary was there. I don't know who she is exactly, I just stumbled upon her blog one day and since then, I couldn't get enough. There were a few new posts since I last checked it, and they were horrifying. There were pictures of her fresh cuts, blood seeping out of them, running down her arm. My hand immediately went up to my face to cover my open mouth. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't look away. It was... fascinating. I was fascinated that someone would tear their skin apart. I wasn't sure why anyone would do it.

Right below the picture there was a caption. 

Tonight, I relapsed. It had been 3 months since I have cut myself, but I needed it. I couldn't take the urges anymore. The shaking, the crying, the pain. I wasn't strong enough to resist it. And I'm glad that I couldn't. I feel alive again. After all of those words they called me, and all that emotional pain, I got to make it physical again. The release, I can't even explain in words. I wasted 3 months in pain when it only took 3 minutes to be clear of everything. It was worth it. I should have went harder on myself. I didn't cut enough. I didn't cut deep enough. But there's always a next time for everything. XOXO, goodnight.

I read it over and over, making sure that I wasn't imagining a single part of it. She escaped all of those words by simply cutting herself. Would that help me too? I didn't know. I didn't want to take the risk for nothing. 

It was almost 3 am by now and I had the last school day of the week up ahead. I closed my laptop and quickly slid it under my bed. My mind was still thinking about her, but it didn't last for long. 

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The next morning I was exhausted and not ready for school. I quickly dressed, not having enough time to actually worry about what I was wearing. I hadn't awoken very easily, and by the time I actually was able to move from bed I was already over 10 minutes late. Rushing around, I threw on a tank top, a Batman zip-up hoodie placed on top, a pair of light blue jeans. I threw a pair of black hi-top converse on my feet and ran out the door, hoping that I would make the bus. My hair was behind me, whoosing like crazy in the wind, making my kinda-natural waves increase. I just made the bus, running for 5 blocks.