The Forgotten Minds

A little kick

TRIGGER WARING: self harm is included in this chapter

It's been a week since I last met Charlie, nothing has happened. He always talks to me, like all the time. We have a lot in common, we like the same bands, the same food, the same movies. He has earned the title as a loyal friend, even if it only was a week.

I arrived home from another boring day of school and I'm welcomed to a strong scent of alcohol and my mother sat sluggishly on the couch. "ohhh hey sweet heart, your home reeeeally early today, how was school?" she slurred while taking a sip of what looked like vodka.

I hate her, I hate her with every once of my body, she always turned to drinking. I wanted to die because of her, she made me this way and caused my pain in the end. Dad hated her so he left me to put up with her bullshit. Everyone had a chance to leave her except for me.

I was left behind with this....sick terrible woman who wanted so badly to waste and destroy her life.

I felt the blood boiling inside of me and I wanted to punch something yet break down and cry and the same time.

"Fuck off" that's all I said before I ran upstairs and slammed my bedroom door behind me. I heard footsteps stumping on each stair, than I heard loud banging on my locked door.

" Open the door! Don't you ever talk to your mother like that! I wasted 17 years to put up with you you piece of shit! If you died to today I bet no one would give a damn including me! You're just like your father, heartless and narcissistic!"

She screamed through the door, you could hear her slur each word. Every time she got drunk she let out her anger on me.

You would think by now I would of gotten used to these hurtful words but I didn't, I needed something to numb me so I could just leave and forget momentarily what's happening and I knew exactly what would do the trick.

I ran to the bathroom that was attached to my room (thank god) and swung open my cabinet under my sink. I dug around the bag I had underneath it and finally found what I was looking for-my blade. I throw the bag back into the cabinet and closed it, then I kicked the door closed with my foot.

I rolled up my flannel sleeve to reveal scar after scar from previously doing this.

I was looking for a spot where I hadn't cut, I ended up finding one high up my forearm close to the bend in my arm. I took the cold blade and slid it across my pale skin barely feeling much pain. I've done this to many times to feel much so it became normal for me.

Once I finished that it felt as if it wasn't enough, I wanted more of that feeling, I needed more. So I did it again but this time directly below where I had just cut. I once again slid the blade across my skin only this time not as cold. I quickly saw blood flowing out of m arm making my cringe from what I had just done, I'm slowly killing myself and I hated it no matter how much I wanted to die.

I ended up just sitting there and crying, I didn't know what else to do and I promised myself I wouldn't go back to doing this again. No one knew about this, my sister didn't know, Summer didn't know and especially my mom didn't know. I was unable to gather all the courage I had within me to say anything, I didn't deserve their love or even their pity.