What's the Point?

Different

Walking home from school, Winne felt different. Not a weird sort of difference, just different. She had been feeling this way ever since The Night. The Night where she had relapsed. Almost ten months clean of self harm, all down the drain. It wasn't really her fault but she blamed herself. Always had, always will. Music blasted in her ears as she zoned out, thinking about how she could've gone deeper last night. Her thighs stung her as she walked.

As Winne reached her front door, her hand shakily grabbed her keys and fumbled to unlock the door. "I'm home" Winne shouted as she entered the house. No reply. She sighed and went upstairs. As Winne dumped her bag in her room, tears fell from her eyes. She couldn't do this anymore. What was the point. Winne brushed away her tears with a trembling hand and reached for the mug on the bedside table. She sat down on her bed and took a large gulp of the liquid in her mug. Winne started to calm down as the mixture of alcohol and water went through her system.

Later that night, after her Mother came home, they all sat down for dinner. Winne's Mother, Father, brother and herself. It was chicken for dinner. Her favourite.

"How was school? Did you learn anything new today?" That was her Mother.

"School was fine" Winne replied.

"Did you have a nice lunch?"

"Yeah, it was nice, very filling though so I'm not that hungry." Winne lied as she looked down at her full plate. She hadn't eaten anything today.

"Oh ok then, try to eat most of your dinner then."

"Sure."

Her Mother had to leave dinner early as she was going to visit her Mother, who fell recently and is(/was idk which one is right) still recovering. Soon after her Mother left, Winne's father went to the sitting room and turned on the TV. That was the end of conversation for the night. She had not touched anything on her plate. Winne dumped her dinner back into the tray and retreated to her bedroom.

Winne reached under her bed and grabbed around, trying to find her bag of blades. Once she found it, she went into the bathroom and locked the door. Winne pulled down her pyjama bottoms and unzipped her bag. As she grabbed a blade, she thought about how much of a disappoint meant she was. After all, that's certainly what her parents said to her.

With a trembling hand she pressed the blade against her thigh and sliced. This went for about thirty minutes. As Winne finally let go of the blade, she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She wiped away the blood and got out some plasters from her bag. After she finished cleaning her sliced up thighs, she wiped them with alcohol prep wipes, because, after all, it would be hard to explain to her parents that she has an infected cut on her thigh without mentioning the whole 'I cut myself' thing.