Faults, Scars, and Guitar Strings

Chapter 1- Part 1

PART 1 - Sophomore Year

Chapter 1

I walked into the bathroom like I do every night. My parents have no idea because they think I'm asleep. I take the blade out of pocket where I always kept it and rolled up the sleeves to my favorite hoodie. The scars on my wrist were multiplying day by day as my life got worse. I slowly cut my left wrist and blood started dripping onto the towel lying on my lap. I can feel myself losing my mind by the day. I lost the ability to think straight a long time ago.

"I'm so sorry," I told myself, "I'm sorry I'm such a mistake. I'm sorry I'm such a terrible person."

From an outside view my life was great, perfect even, but they didn't know what I had to live with: two successful parents and a celebrity brother. I was their disappointment child. I went to a public school and had a different last name than my brother. I get average grades and I have no outstanding talents. I am Kayla Dane and my brother is David Stanley, the famous singer and actor. There's no way that I will ever be able to compete with him. Maybe that's why my sister Alicia's not here anymore. I can't handle this kind of pressure anymore. It's all too much and my brain can't handle much more of it. I wish I had talent, I wish I had become famous like my brother, but more than anything else I wish I was dead. If I was dead nobody would have to deal with me anymore. If I was dead I wouldn't be the disappointment anymore. If I was dead people would finally be nice to me. If I was dead the bullying would stop.

I cried, "Why can't I just die?! That's all I want..."

Tears dripped from my eyes falling onto the towel mixing with all the blood as I cut again, this time on the other wrist. I cried harder and harder as I watched my wrists bleed out. The more I kept over thinking about my life the more I cut into my wrists. It's a vicious cycle that never ends. I don't think it ever will. It happens every night and I can't stop it. I felt depressed about my life so I cut, but after it was done I regretted it. I know how horrible cutting is, but my depression gets the best of me every time. I don't have control over what I do. I waited until my wrists were done bleeding before I put my sleeves down and put the razor back in my pocket. I walked to the laundry room and put the towel in the wash before returning to my room and lying on my bed. I looked up at the ceiling with my guitar poster in sight along the wall in front of me. My bedroom walls were light green and it matched the green grass in the background of the guitar poster. I looked at the wall next to me with my second guitar poster hung up. They are the only two posters or pictures in my entire room. I refused to put anything else up because all I can get myself to care about is the way it feels to play a guitar.

I did not allow myself to care about anything else. Besides the guitar, the only other thing I care about is wanting to die. Nobody will ever know... except me. If nobody knows then nobody will be there to stop me. I don't want them to stop me. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to die. I woke up the next morning and the same thoughts always ran through my head.

"I hate my life," I mumbled to myself before getting up off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom to take a shower. "Why do I have to keep doing this?"

I turned the heat on high before taking off my clothes and hopping in making sure to take the razor out of my pocket and setting it on the sink. I got out of the shower, put a towel around myself, and grabbed my stuff before walking back into my room. The bathroom was connected to my room so my parents barely ever saw me in the morning. That's exactly the way I want it too. I don't want to constantly be reminded of what an annoyance I am to them. I opened my drawers and grabbed the first pair of underwear and bra I saw. I put them on along with my favorite dark skinny jeans. I slid on a black tank top to go with my favorite black hoodie. I went to the mirror and grabbed my brush.