Tears that I struggle to hold back sting my eyes. I look at my imperfect toes and smile, remembering the little girl next door coating them in different shades of pink. I look at my hands, my bruised and bloody hands. Why can't I be loved? Why won't anyone love me? What am I doing wrong? Questions blind me as I lay back and exhale. Where are you God? I don't know what I'm doing wrong or what I should do. Can you help me? Because right now, I am completely helpless. This situation is beyond my control now. God, help me out of this ditch I have buried myself in and help me to see the light. I bury my face in my hands as I let out silent sobs, my body shaking in agony. No one comes to comfort me, I just sit by myself in the corner of my twin bed and cry. I just want all this to end, all this to just be done with. The blood from the gashes on my arms begin to stain my white blouse. The slices on my legs drip onto my pink blanket. Let it end! I scream out. Let me die! My vision begins to blur and my room begins to spin.
Blackout.
YOU ARE READING
The Daily Life of a Fourteen Year Old
Não FicçãoLife of Me. Basically a journal of my life. Stuff I do, stuff I encounter, stuff like that.
