the darkness within us ~ n.h.

prologue.

darkness. that's all my world had become. I'd let it permeate my soul until my entire world was painted over with a thin layer of black.

this wasn't supposed to happen again, I'd been through enough hell to last me a decade. but somehow, while I wasn't looking, the voices came back and I returned to where I had once been.

I know I should have told the boys. they would have helped me. saved me, like last time. but that's the thing about relapse, it's filled with too much shame. it's not that I didn't trust them, but I didn't want to see the looks on their faces when they realized I'd become bad again. I didn't want to let them down, I didn't want their pity, and I didn't want them to look at me differently.

a year ago, I was bad. really bad. the sort of bad that could have gotten me admitted to a rehabilitation center, if I had gone. or had the boys made me gone. I was depressed, I cut on the daily, and I never ate. the little I did eat, I threw up. but I guess I should go back to the start of all of this.

we had just become famous- every young singer's dream, right? well, yes, but with fame comes pressure. and I was unequipped to deal with that pressure.

to this day, I still remember the first day I read a bit of hate about myself. it wasn't the worst I ever read, but it has stuck with me. it simply called me ugly. at the time, it hurt, but I was able to let it go. that's what normal people do, they let criticism roll off their backs. later on, however, I received news of my grandfather's death. my grandpa had been the only one really there for me when I came to terms with who I was. that I was different than some. I'm not ready to say what made me different, but perhaps you may already know.

anyways, I received news of his illness, and I was called to come to the hospital. I saw him die in front of me. suddenly, I was no longer able to sleep, starting my downward spiral. the boys knew about my grandfather, and they tried to help me through. I thought I was better. that was only the beginning.

soon, I started reading hate. but this time, my brain didn't work like normal people. it didn't roll off. I took everything personally, and my utmost goal in life became to be perfect enough for people to stop hating me.

I stopped eating. cold turkey. I thought, perhaps, being thin could solve my problems. I couldn't be anything overly special, but I could be skinny.

I didn't realize the consequences. soon I was addicted: addicted to losing weight, addicted to the feeling of an empty stomach, addicted to the feeling of being weightless. I was so addicted that I no longer could eat without feeling shitty about myself, and the voices would begin.

they fed me insults, and I ate them up instead of the food I should have been eating. I lost all self respect. I became a liar.

this led me to cutting myself. it was all I deserved.

however, secrets have a way of being found out, and eventually, the boys caught on to what I was doing. they helped me in so many ways. they didn't know my reasons, but they helped anyways. they helped me get better.

they thought I was better.

I thought I was better.

but depression isn't so easy to beat, and a year later I found myself back where I was, bowing to the power of a razor in the middle of the night.