Surviving

nineteen

Trigger Warning

My eyes don't have to be open for me to be awake. The crawling under my skin is enough for anyone to wake up from a slumber. I clench my hands together to try and get the feeling to go away, but if anything it just gets worse.

I can only describe the sensation as pins and needles intensified, mixed with a burning feeling. Or like thousands of ants are trying to fight their way out of my skin. I almost feel the veins in my neck popping out because of the strain I'm putting on my throat to keep myself from screaming.

A metallic taste forms in my mouth thanks to my teeth biting into my bottom lip with force. What's happening to me?

I finally open my eyes, realising that I'm in my bed. Mom or Wilmer must have carried me here after I fell asleep earlier. Quickly scanning the room, I notice that I'm alone. I have no concept of time. For all I know it's a couple hours later, or even days later. The only thing I can focus on is getting whatever is under my skin, out.

"Stop. Get out. Get out, please.." I whimper while sitting up in my bed, my hands automatically slapping my arms. Maybe if I hit my skin hard enough, it'll crush whatever's inside me.

With each blow to my skin, the more the crawling happens. I've angered them. I try again to stop them, now bawling my hands into fists and punching my skin. I punch my arms, my legs, even my stomach. They're traveling everywhere. I can feel them reaching my feet and I can't stay silent any longer.

"Get out!" I shout, but it's still a whimper. It's almost as if they're stealing my energy and ability to raise my voice any louder.

Speaking angers them. The vibration of my voice running through my body seems to unsettle them even more. They're on a mission to get out and I don't know what to do.

I look down at my arms and I swear I can see ripples on the surface of my skin. I use the tip of my finger to push down on a bump in my arm, horrified to see it scurry away. There's something inside of me. It's eating at my flesh from the inside out. I need it out.

Before I can even register what's happening, I'm racing down the stairs and into the kitchen. It's almost like tunnel vision as I search for the one thing I need; the one thing that will get them out.

"Need to get them out. They need to get out. Get them out." I mutter to myself while grabbing hold of the largest kitchen knife we have. This should do it.

Staring down at my arms once more, I nearly gag while watching the bumps in my skin move around at lightning pace. There are so many of them. So many bugs trying to burst through my skin. They need an exit.

I bite down on my lip as I push the tip of the knife into my skin, allowing the bugs to seep out like an overflowing river. They scurry away, down my arms and legs and onto the kitchen floor. I let out a yell as some of them crawl along my feet, causing me to lift my feet off the ground before slamming it back down, crushing them.

I keep cutting my arms, letting every bug free. I know I'm starting to lose energy, so I allow myself to collapse onto the floor before moving onto my legs.

For some reason, the legs hurt more to break open. Maybe it has something to do with the deeper tissue, but I can't hold back my screams of pain. It's okay though, the bugs are escaping.