Author's Note//Warning: This one-shot may or may not be triggering to people who self-harm. If you're trying to stop and/or you don't want to relapse, some parts of this may make you want to. Please read at your own risk.
And if you need help, or just someone to talk to, you can always talk to me.
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It is a head long battle with depression.
However, in the end, I know I am not battling depression. The depression, the overwhelming sadness that took me down, was me. My emotions were made of me. Scattered, scarred pieces of me.
The only battle I was facing was against myself. A one-woman war, never to be won.
This was depression. I am the sadness, the grief and the sinking feeling of it all.
I am depression
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People saw the scars, sometimes. They asked, sometimes. Most kept quiet, either silently wondering or they just could not care less.
But they wondered. They wondered why. Why do it.
The answer goes two ways.
Sometimes pain -the one that kills you from the inside- gets too much to bear. Your thoughts will scream at you, your heart will make your chest want to explode, your breath will struggle against your lungs. There's too much air and you just want to stop feeling. Numb the pain of everything inside. Make your brain worry over something other than the thoughts screaming and battling in your head. You just want to shut your demons up and make the monsters in your head stop stop stop.
Sometimes, the blade is quick and light. Barely scratching on the canvas. Barely bleeding paint onto the blank nothingness.
Most of the time they are deep, cutting deeper than careless words thrown at you. The blade buries itself in your skin, seeming to dig deeper, wanting not your skin but the monsters in you to bleed.
But always, always, there's a sharp stinging pain that sends sparks to your brain, telling you that your body -finally, not your brain, but your body- is hurt. And sometimes the blood overflow, panic seizing you. For a moment everything but your physical pain is forgotten.
The physical pain numbs the brain, silences the screams. Numbing the pain with some other kind of pain.
Sometimes you do it because you're numb, so so so numb.
Words become meaningless, thoughts are quiet and your heart barely beats.
You are nothing, and there is nothing to feel except nothingness.
You are so used to the pain that there is nothing left, no care and no worries. Nothing.
But there's the movement of sharp metal against skin, and there's the blood flowing so freely and the pain. It's so painful that the only thing left to do is cry, or wince or scream or just something.
You are not nothing anymore, because in your loneliness there is the pain. You are not numb anymore, because finally it hurts.
And sometimes the pain is the only friend you have.
YOU ARE READING
Shot In The Dark.
Nouvelles"and maybe in the end, you'll be another memory, you'll be nothing but a story to tell."
