"Yeah." I answer my mother. "Polly's treating me good. She's up to your standards. She makes good food. She does the chores well. I like her."
I glance at Polly, who gives me a soft smile, as if to say thank you.
My mother gives me a big smile, and folds her hands together in the way adults do when they know you're lying, but they like your answer, and don't want to challenge you. "Well, son, that's lovely! After all, getting you a new caretaker is hard, and like they always say! Third time's the charm. Just remember, you can always tell us if she's rude to you, or hurts you in any way. We're just a long distance phone call away."
My heart fucking aches.
Yes, they love me. They care for me so much, they want me to be happy, to be successful, to be rich. They want me to be perfect. They want me to be them. But I'm not them, and I never will be. I'm not like them. I can't just be happy. I need more than they do. I need something real.
Maybe it's because I'm a teenager, and full of hormones or something, but my heart is just filled with sadness, and any nice thing someone does for me, any bit of joy I feel just goes into a bottomless pit, and I'm sad again.
I'm just never fucking happy. Not for long, not for any substantial amount of time. Nothing that ever lasts.
I spend time with Sunny, and I'm overjoyed, or distracted, same thing. He is all over me and I'm feeling lovely. He tells me something nice, and I like myself. I'm happy, or at least pretending to be, or distracted enough to not realize how sad I am inside. Or maybe he just makes me happy. Either way, it's never permeant.
And then I leave, and the happiness keeps falling when it's no longer constantly being poured in, and I am left depressed and sick. I see my parents, they make the bottomless hole even deeper, and I feel sicker, and I am drained of energy, and my hands are itching for the razor blade in my photo album.
They can fix their problems with money because their problems are stupid and shallow. And not to say mine aren't, but they don't know the grief, they don't know the pain, and the heart break I've went through for the past four years.
And they'll never know.
And their money won't fix my problems. Especially not with some damn therapist, even if she costs a lot of money. Even if they're going through the pain and suffering and shallow problems of their coworkers thinking a little bit less of them. Wow. What a fucking sacrifice. I'm so goddamn honored they'd go through that for me.
"May I be excused?" I ask in a soft whisper. My parents, of course, nod. They don't want to see me anymore. Why would they?
So I go upstairs, to my photo album.
I open it. I look over the pages. I find the one that holds my blade, and I take it out.
I breathe a steady breath in, readying myself for the pain to come. I take a quick slash across my thigh, give it a second, wait as it turns white, and then wait again as it turns red, and the blood begins to flow.
Another slash. White, red, do it again, do it again, do it again. The pain never fucking ends. What a fun little rhyme.
I look down at my thighs. What the fuck have I done? Why do I keep ruining myself like this? I have a bottomless pit in my heart, and this isn't really filling it up or making it shallower. If anything, it's making it deeper. If anything, it's filling it with sadness the same way my parents do.
So am I going to get better? Am I going to turn my life around? Am I going to get better? Start caring about what's important?
No.
I'm not.
Of course I'm not going to get better. Do you not know me? There's been 8,190 words so far, have you not read any of them? Have you not taken any of them to heart? Does this go in one ear and out the other? Do you not care about me spilling my heart out to you? Do you want me to go tell you how it feels to make out with Sunny so you can stop feeling so touch starved and distract yourself from the pain you feel in your life? Am I making you feel worse? Do I care?
I'm going to keep getting worse. I'm going to keep making the bottomless hole deeper. I'm going to cut until I bleed out one day. One day I'm going to die, and it'll be bloody and gross and shocking, it'll make the news, it'll make everyone sad, and it'll be all my fault.
What about Sunny?
I can't leave him.
Not after his sister died.
Not after he left me, because I know the pain of being abandoned by the person you love.
Maybe I'll post pone my death. Just for Sunny.
Because as much as I want to die, I want Sunny to be happy. I want to fix him, even if he can't fix me. Just because I'm fundamentally broken doesn't mean he is.
Maybe I can make things right. If only for Sunny.
I clean up my legs, and wipe the blood off of them, bandage them up, and put on a pair of dark pants, just incase they start bleeding. I then go downstairs, to see my parents. To talk to them. I go downstairs to the dining room, and then to the living room, but they're no where to be seen. And then I look by the front door, and their suit cases aren't there.
I step outside into the cold spring air, and their rental car isn't there.
And for the second time this night, I burst into a mess of tears, and sit down on the front porch steps, and bury my head in my hands, and realize that no matter how hard I try, I am broken, and will never be loved.
(1035 words)
a/n- yeah basically none of this was me wiritng fanfic. enjoy my heart felt monogloue.
