unwanted thoughts

CONTROL

The bell rings. 

Just as Fynn was about to leave the humid classroom, her teacher Mr Steeple (or as the rest of school calls him - Creepy Steepy) beckons her over with a stern look "I didn't see your parents at parents evening last night." it was more of a statement than a question. Mum left when I was 3, dad was probably - definitely passed out drunk on the sofa. Fynn lied "work stuff. they were busy. Said they'd call the office." Creepy Steepy's eyes narrowed as Fynn, head down hoodie up covering her dyed red hair, left the classroom. Thank fuck its the weekend, thought Fynn while she slipped out the back exit to avoid Principle Matthews' probable lecture as to why she wasn't on her way to Biology class right now.  

Arriving home, Fynn cautiously peeled open the door to her fathers two bedroom flat, scanning for any signs of life. silence. he wasn't home. probably buying more beer or more drugs. or both. In Fynn's room ("more like a sardine can" she called it when they moved in a few years ago) she lay on her bed and stared at the cracking, mould filled ceiling. and she stared. and stared. and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared. 

until she didn't feel anything anymore. 

her brain plays tricks on her, calling her names and bullying her until finally - she breaks. sometimes though, she swears its not just in her brain and that there is an army of bullies surrounding her, suffocating her, tearing her apart from the inside out. but that's not true, is it. shed be called crazy. IM NOT FUCKING CRAZY Fynn repeats to herself like a broken record. 

frantically searching for the small box shed hidden inside a shoe box in the depths of her wardrobe, Fynn pulls our her stash of blades. old and new. dull and sharp. she inspects the small pieces of silver before choosing one with rusted blood on the edges. she needed to feel something again. 

one swipe. ugly. two swipes. fat. three swipes. freak. four swipes. failure. five. six. seven. eight. nine. she stops. salty tears fall, stinging the wounds on her thigh. letting out a deep sigh, Fynn relaxes her head back against the off-white wall. the dark thoughts swarming her evil brain. 

she thought about the last few weeks at school, how her 'friends' treated her. how they left her after Fynn's dad, unexpectedly, strode into the cafeteria and argued and yelled and hit and yelled some more before, out of the blue, threw Amy's strawberry yogurt over her beautifully curled blonde hair. so stupid - why? why why why why why. Fynn's whole life had been a mess - since the day she was born. A problem, waste of space, not good enough. well, that's what her father always said, before all the substance abuse and alcohol took over leaving him almost always slumped across the second hand sofa.  

control. that's what Fynn wanted most. not a car. not to be popular. not even the latest iPhone. what she craved most was control. unlucky for her. it was always just out of her reach. never pretty enough. never thin enough. never good enough - for anyone, not even herself. she wished it would all end. the pain. the torture. the sleepless nights planning ways to do it. but she was afraid - not how you'd think. she wasn't afraid to hurt her loved ones or to regret it. Fynn was afraid because what if it didn't work. and then she'd still be stuck. no control. worse actually, if someone found her in time, got help, she would have to talk. talk about her feelings. ew. her brain is a diseased place. not welcome to guests. 

Fynn's time was running out and she knew that. she didn't care anymore. the fear had gone. she couldn't live like this. she couldn't live. 

she looked down to her right, hidden within the blades were pills. pills she'd been collecting in secret from her fathers own stash. it had taken a long time to get enough. well, what she hoped was enough. she couldn't wait any longer. after one last look in her dirty mirror, her reflection blurred by the tears still pouring from her eyes, for the first time Fynn didn't see a dead girl walking staring back but instead, a stranger. someone who didn't belong. picking up the mixture of pills, she took them. handfuls at a time. there was more than she thought. good. minutes go by and more pills swallowed, Fynn began to feel hazy yet warm. nothing mattered anymore. a small smile grew on between her flushed cheeks before she closed her eyes for the last time. she would finally be free. safe. in control. 

[written July,15 2023]