Faye:
The middle drawer of my bedside table is open, the socks have been moved aside.
What is hidden at the back of the drawer is now beside me on the bed. I've cleaned it, though, it's like it's never been used.
You're pathetic.
I always clean it straight after I'm done. It brings me so much guilt to even look at it afterwards.
My skin stings. I've cleaned that too.
I don't want to think about my next shower, more stinging.
I don't want to think about getting changed into a clean top or jumper, having it scratch against the skin. Even more stinging.
You're disgusting.
Sometimes I am not kind to myself. My mind doesn't think kind thoughts.
I always hyper-fixate on every insecurity, every imperfection, everything that is wrong with me.
Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead.
I want to die.
I think about it almost daily, when my mind convinces me that I have nothing to live for, that no one will care and that I deserve to be dead.
I think, at least in that way, the pain will be gone. It won't be able to reach me if I'm not there to feel it.
And I won't be able to give myself pain. To make myself hurt.
My mind won't be able to come up with these thoughts because I will no longer be able to think.
I'll just be nothing.
But then, I think 'you're so selfish for wanting to die. What about everyone you're leaving behind? What about the life that you can potentially have?'
Please, please, just leave me alone. I just want peace. I want my mind to be quiet. I'm so tired of living. I want to be happy.
I think I'll be happier dead.
Today has not been a Good day.
YOU ARE READING
First Light
Romance"I love you. I feel as though we were never strangers, you and I, not even for a moment." - Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter to Mathilde Trampedach c. April 1876 Have you ever felt a weird sense of familiarity with someone you just met? As if you...
