dear diary (larvis)

dear diary - shower

(tw, a less graphic form of self harm)

larry
i stood under the water from the shower, close to being boiling hot. i didn't really care that much as it was absolutely freezing outside, and it felt nice against my skin and face. it burnt a little on my thighs though.

i would've been in the shower for awhile, since i had to wash my hair. it took ages every time because i had so much hair. people always make up lies that i don't shower but that's not true. i only wash my hair once every 1.5 weeks. and that's not because i can't be bothered, it's because it's healthy that way. so no, i'm not a grease ball, and if anything i care about my hair more than ashley since her hair has been the same length for about a year. sorry ash.

i soaked my hair with water, rubbing the shampoo in my hands into my hair. i was washing my hair again despite travis washing my hair a few days before. i genuinely just forgot.

this always took fucking ages. and even if i lost tons of hair in the process i still had really thick hair. i had to use so many products too. my mom gave me my hair. and my sister would've had her hair too.

i remember my sister. not very well, but i definitely remember her. i was 7 at the time i found out i was going to have a sister. they knew 100% she was going to be ginger, and a girl. i was so happy. it was all i spoke about. well, until it happened.

my mom wouldn't talk. all she would do is cry. my dad had to explain to me what happened. at the time i didn't understand. he said 'she wasn't going to be born because she had unfortunately passed away'. i didn't know what he meant at all. i though, 'how could a baby just pass away?' but when i was 9 i found out what stillbirth was at school. shouting out in class that i had a stillborn sister probably wasn't the best move, and wasn't something my mom wanted to be reminded of in a meeting. especially after my dad disappeared. i miss you miia, even though i never met you.

i don't like thinking of the past. even the word "past" triggers.. that. i've written about it enough, so it was fairly obvious what it was.

what i haven't written about, and didn't particularly want to write about, is what i did when those thoughts came to me.

i reached over, the soap still filling my hair, grabbing a cleaning sponge. i drenched it in soap. i despised this feeling, but it's the only way i feel clean.

i started scrubbing at my shoulders, biting my lip and i grazed the skin on my shoulders with the rough material. i would do this for atleast 30 minutes every time i had the thought. it happened more than i wanted it to. half of the time i couldn't even stop my hands.

i would scrub myself everywhere i remembered getting touched. especially my waist. i never ever felt clean from the inside or outside until my skin was raw and bleeding. my inner thighs always bled the most.

i stared down at my thighs. this is going to hurt so much.

i roughly scrubbed the sponge over my thighs, directly over the cuts on my legs. if i could i would've stopped myself. but i just wanted to get this out of my head. so badly. i don't want to be dirty.

my thighs started bleeding quickly as i reopened the cuts that i had caused a few days ago. the blood ran down my legs, the water quickly washing it away when i took a step back. it burned even more when the water soaked into my open wounds.

i scrubbed the shampoo from my hair quickly, turning the water off as soon as i did. i could see myself in the mirror. my shoulders were raw and red, along with the rest of the parts i 'cleaned' this is what i wanted. my heart didn't want it, but my body did.

i pulled my underwear on, dropping the towel. i didn't particularly want to look at myself after that but i didn't have much choice. my thighs were bad enough. i turned around, looking at my lower back. jeez.

luckily i didn't scrub the "sensitive" parts of my body as my body, thankfully, didn't want to do that. i guess the whole of my body was sensitive after the absolute shit others and myself have put my figure through. i guess it's better than the other parts of me i really don't want to bleed.

i hated looking at myself. so much.

i cried, again. i sat in the corner of the room, with my head tucked inbetween my folded arms. what a life. what a painful and terrible life i live.