Just Have Faith

Chapter Two

A week later, I got home and sat down to cry. Everything was fine today. That was, until I sat down on the bus and felt that looming dark cloud of sadness hanging over me. Maybe it's because I'm swamped with homework. Or maybe it's because of my depression. But, it's probably a bit of both.

Then, deciding that I'd just be more stressed out if I didn't start on all this homework, I grabbed my heavy, purple binder from my backpack. Once I wiped my tears, I grabbed my lap desk. Then, I sat on my bed and started my homework.

***

"Whew, glad that's finished!" I said two and a half hours later when I finally finished my last page of homework.

Despite the fact that my homework was done, which ended the stress, the feeling of sadness still towered over me. There was no reason for me to be sad, it just. . . happened.

I took a deep breath, and ran my hands through my hair, then quickly tied it into a very messy bun. This was just so that if I ended up crying, my hair wouldn't get stuck to my face. Because believe me, having your long, brunette hair stick to your face from crying is irritating.

I told myself to breathe. Just to breathe deeply and slowly. I told myself that I can stay strong, that I can do this. I need to stay clean, but it's just hard. I need to find a different escape. I need an escape that doesn't harm me.

This was all too much. I was overthinking. As I was overthinking, my breathing began to turn from slow and deep, to rapid and shallow.

Not good, not good at all.

Beginning to fumble with my fingers, the horrible thoughts began to pop into my head.

"Stop it!" I yelled at myself. I pressed my hands against my forehead, trying to push the bad thoughts out.

"You think I love you, Layla? You're worthless," his voice replayed in my head. "And ugly," he said.

Maybe he is right. Maybe I am all those things. All of his insults kept replaying in my head, causing me to inch closer to where I hid my blades. To where I hid my escape.

I pulled them out and looked at the shiny piece of sharp metal that lay flat in my palm, debating whether or not I needed this.

A few seconds later, as the insults that he threw at me continued to repeat, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the scars from previous days just like this.

Then, I took the blade and made three small slices, blood beginning to inch down my wrist.

Quickly, I ran next door to my bathroom to clean the small wounds.

After I cleaned out the cuts and wrapped my wrist in a small amount of gauze, I slipped on a black sweatshirt. Then, I walked back into my room and put my homework back into my backpack.

As I did so, a piece of paper at the bottom of my bag caught my eye. I had no idea what it was.

When I pulled it out, I remembered that it was from Nick; it was the flyer with the youth group on it.

I looked at the location: 133 Cornerstone Road Coopersville, Michigan.

There's going to be pizza. . . it's only one block from here. . . I can walk on snowy sidewalks for just one block. . .

I walked to my bathroom. After letting my hair down and running a brush threw my long, straight brunette locks, I twisted it into a side braid. Then, I washed my face with cleanser and toner, making sure it was completely free of tear stains. Next, I applied foundation to my naturally tan skin and put some mascara on my eyelashes.