"Okay Carrie smile!" My mom yells, as if the screaming kids in the background won't overpower her voice. This was my 11th birthday and it was miserable. My hair was disgusting, my friends we're annoying and my grades were dropping. I started to develop acne, and my parents were having issues. The last thing I wanted to do was smile. "Whatever." I snorted. I smiled, but my eyes were still depressed. The picture turned out okay, but if you still look at it now you can see the regret in my eyes. I turned around flipping my platinum blonde hair behind me. I crossed the stone path I built when I was 6, to the patio. I sped-walked up to my bedroom to let my soul collapse into one ever lasting dimension. I crawled into my bed, letting a rush of sadness and anger, flow out of me in the form of tears and screams. I threw all my pillows across my room as hard as I could. I punched things, and kicked and screamed but all my frustration still wasn't let out. All I wanted was the pain to end. That year in health, I learned all about suicide. During class I wondered how taking your own life felt. If dying actually felt good. Don't get me wrong, suicide was bad but my 11 year old brain just wanted all the misery to disappear. I grabbed the sharpest pair of scissors I could find and began to cut my wrist into little lines. The noise of the blade to my skin was slowly making the pain dissolve. After each and each cut, less and less worries were with me. There were dashes of blood on my wrist almost as if some sick, twisted painter drew it on. I cleaned off the scissors so my mom wouldn't find out, and I went back to my room. And that night, I could actually sleep easily.
YOU ARE READING
Insecurities
Teen Fiction"You always seem so confident. How do you do it Carrie?" A news reporter asks. "Confidence is just a layer of protection from the inside insecurities. All my feelings are masked." ------------------------------- Carrie is a seemingly perfect girl. W...
