Thighs

Part two

I met someone new today at school. His name is Jeremy. I don't think I've ever seen him before. I would've remembered. He was unlike anyone I had ever seen. He was new at this school, yet smiled like he had always been here. His confidence radiated off of him like sun rays. Everything about him made me want to talk to him. So, of course, I did.
"Hi! I'm Heather, Heather Brown!" I immediately regretted how peppy that was. This was an awful idea. It surprised me when he responded just as peppy.
"Helloooo," he drug out, "I'm Jeremy Scott! Nice to meet you!"
After that first conversation, the next few months were marvelous. I had learned so much about him and he quickly became my best friend. One night, before I was about to go to bed I heard a rap at my window. I looked outside to see Jeremy, face in his hands, standing beneath it.
"Jeremy? What's wrong? Do you need to come in?" I rambled on, my heart beating quickly.
He stayed all night with me, explaining that he finally told his family he was gay and they kicked him out. Jeremy had the same coping issue that I did. He found any and every way he could hurt himself. It killed me to see him like this. I noticed the fresh cuts on his hips and his wrists. How long has it been since I hurt myself? It's been months. Jeremy helped me be happy. I vowed to help him however I could the same way that he did for me.
The following Monday he wasn't at school and that scared me to death. When school was over, I walked into my front door to see my mom sitting on the couch tears streaming down herface. I knew what had happened, and I didn't want to hear it.
"Heather, baby," my mom started. I didn't say a word to her. I wailed out in anguish and
ran to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and began to sob. My best friend, the only person who ever made me happy, hated life so much that he ended it. I squeezed my hands together and realized what I was craving. I threw my bag off my shoulder and walked quickly to the bathroom. I turned the lock and went through the same routine I had done so many times. I reached beneath the lid of the toilet and brought out my bag. I didn't take my time to run the bath. I just sat in my empty tub, the ceramic cold against my back, but it didn't bother me much. I jerked off my jeans exposing my legs. I examined my thighs. They were covered in pink scars, some deep and some barely rose above the surface of my skin. Tears were streaming down my face, but I was making no sound. My mom was pounding on the door.
"Heather Anne! Open the door now!" she demanded almost threatening me.
I held the blade so tight in my fingers that they themselves were soaked in blood. I pressed the blade into my skin, breathing out loud before digging it into my skin. Jeremy was dead. I push harder and sliced through my skin. I raised it off of my thigh before placing it in a new place. I could have helped him. Again, I sliced into my skin violently. The salt in my tears were stinging my cuts making the pain even more surreal. I could still hear my mother attempting to get in. I could hear my dad's screams now. He must have come home. They were kicking at the door. It wouldn't be long until they broke their way into the bathroom, so I had to hurry. It should have been me. He deserved to live more than anybody. I couldn't take it. I began to scream.
This was the end. I didn't want to live. I didn't even deserve to live. Still screaming, I cutanywhere and everywhere I could. I cut my chest, my thighs, my calves, everywhere. I then realized that none of that would guarantee to end my life. I looked around me and took everything in. I was sitting in a bathtub full of blood, my body was more red than white, and everything around me was quiet except for the sobs from my mother and my father's last attempt of opening the door. I sighed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered before quietly putting the blade to my throat. I pressed harder and found it more difficult to breathe. I opened my throat with the blade and closed my eyes.
"Heather! Heather No! Please, stay with me!" I could hear my mom begging, I couldn't reply, couldn't comfort her, but this is what I wanted.
I awoke with bright lights in my face. Everything was white. I must be in heaven. I must. I begin looking around for Jeremy. The door opens. A man in a white coat with a clipboard walks in.
"Where am I? Who are you?" I asked quietly, suddenly afraid of the answer.
"You're okay Heather. You're in the hospital and I'm your doctor," he told me calmly. Again I looked around, but this time I noticed the IVs, the chair, the computer, and my
mother curled up asleep in a chair next to me. I hope she was dreaming of good things. I couldn't believe I was so selfish to put my mother through the same pain I went through with Jeremy.
Over the next few weeks my wounds healed up and I began to feel more content with life. Probably due to the several pills I take every morning to make sure I am happier. I have now moved to a hospital for the mentally sick. It kind of sucks, but it helps. There are infinite people here who are very nice, who know exactly how I feel. My psychiatrist is the sweetest and most helpful woman I have ever met. She has contributed to my healing more than anyone. Everyweek my mother comes in to see me. Our visits started out awkward and sad, but now it's just like it was before. I still hate to see the pain I put her through, I just hope one day she can forgive me for it all. I think she blames herself. I really wish she wouldn't.
Jeremy is still on my mind all of the time, but it doesn't hurt as bad. I miss him so much, and no matter what I was raised to think, no matter what it says in the Bible, I know Jeremy is in heaven. Visits from my family give me hope. I can't wait to go home, but for now, I'm perfectly happy with staying here and getting better.