Thoughts of a Girl

Alone

She was alone yet again. She couldn't fight off the urge to cut. She wanted to so badly, needed it. She had depression,and was prescribed medication for it. She was foolish and didn't take it for months. She thought she could go without it. She was wrong, so horribly wrong. She was so... sad, so hopeless, so every negative emotion. She was overwhelmed, to the point of numbness. She reached over to bedside table and picked up the razor.

From where she was sitting, in the middle of her bed, the razor gave off a foreboding glint. She thought back to the last time she cut. She had just found out her boyfriend, of a year and a half, had feelings for another girl. She broke up with him the next day.

Since then she's been struggling with her depression. He had helped her so much. He kept her stable when her parents were fighting over custody. He helped calm her when she was stressed with her workload. He helped her stay calm and not sink into the ever looming darkness. She liked to say he was her one safehaven, like clinging to a rock in a raging river. She missed her rock. She missed being able to talk to someone freely. Someone who knew everything about her. Someone who she had nothing to hide from. She missed how comfortable they were together, how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. How warm and inviting his arms were, how easy it was to sit and cuddle for hours on end, how easy it was to fall asleep in his arms.

She missed their easy-going relationship, how he'd tell her exactly what was going on in his head and his life, and she'd share back. How they hid literally nothing from each other. She missed the comfort and support. She miss the feeling of knowing she was loved, not because he had to, but because he chose to. He had made her forget her depression. He made her forget anything was wrong when she was with him; everything was right. Then he changed.

He started yelling at her over nothing. He didn't act cheesy anymore. He didn't tell her everything, he hid things. He lied. He became more focused on their physical relationship than their emotional one. He blamed her for everything that went wrong. After six months she decided she had enough, but every time she tried to break up with him she got lost with him. Forgetting the world just like they used to. She smiled to herself, a small sad smile. Tears began to slowly trickle down her cheek.

Her thoughts shifted to other things. She had been single now for five months. It feels like years. She almost got sucked back into dating her ex, but luckily she fought her way out before it was too late. Now she was "dating" another guy, only for a couple days, but she'd known the guy for three years. She felt like it was a one-sided relationship, emotionally he wouldn't talk to her about how he feels, or what's going on. He doesn't show much interest in her feelings. She'd say something important and he simply reply "OK".

She tested the razor on her fingers, then traced along the vein in her left arm. She was preparing for the pain. Mentally psyching herself up for it. She put off cutting for so long because it was so hot out. It would be strange to wear long sleeves in this heat, but she can't fight it off anymore. Her mind wanders to the reason she picked up the razor in the first place. She was alone. Mentally and physically. She felt like she had no one to go to. No one could or would help.

Her friends had had enough of her problems, and tended to push their own opinions on how she should cope on to her. She felt like nobody listened to her. Nobody cared how she felt, what she felt. She tried so damn hard to please others, to keep them happy, to show them she loved them. To give them something special; yet she didn't get a thank you. She didn't get a good job. She didn't get any acknowledgment for what she did. Worse yet, when she needed help, or simply needed a break, the ones she helped; she cared for, she gave so much to; act as though she's never done anything for them in her life. They get upset that they had to waste their time on her.

She realized she was nothing more than a doormat, just there to wipe your feet. Just another rung in the ladder to where the person wants to go. Nobody listens to her or cared about what she had to say. She was unimportant. A nobody. A social outcast. Anything used to further yourself, only to be left behind for someone else to use.

Tears fell freely from her green~brown eyes now. She gripped the razor in her right hand and pressed hard against her already scared left arm. Her mouth opened in pain as she dragged the razor down, pressing hard. She made no sound. Finally she stopped and raise the razor off of her arm. She looked down at the wound she had inflicted and watched as the blood began welling out. She watched as little droplets of the burgundy liquid dripped down her arm. She raised her razor up, placing it on her left arm yet again. She dragged down, pressing hard. She could feel it cutting through her skin. She loved the sharp intense pain, and loved it even more as it quickly turned into a light burning sensation.

Again she watch the blood trickle out of the wound for a while, before cutting again. And again. And again. Until she had to consciously make herself stop. If she cut anymore on that arm her cover would be blown. She hated restraining herself. She began to cut more in her right arm, but her left hand couldn't apply much pressure, resulting in shallower cuts and less blood. Oh how she wished she could cut her thighs like the skinny girls, but her thighs were full of fat. If she cut them they wouldn't bleed like she wanted them to. She tried before. She still has those scars.

She looked at her arms and saw the blood. She relaxed and put the razor back on her bedside table. She sat back on her bed, leaning against her pillows and closed her eyes. Her arms were palm up, the last thing she needed was to have to explain blood on her sheets. After sitting like this for a while she looked down at her arms again. They had scabbed over. The skin around the straight clean lines is red and irritated, she finds her iPod and look at the time. It's 2:48, almost 3 AM. She decides it's time for bed. She gets up and turns off her light. she pulls shirt and PJ pants on and climbs back into her warm bed. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep. She needs to be ready to put her mask back on when she wakes up.