She was broken. They had diagnosed her with anxiety and depression six weeks before. She was a good girl, always respecting others and trying her best. But it didn't feel like she was worth it. No. Grace was lost in her own mind. She was tired of getting yelled at. Tired of her own sister calling her fat, stupid and ugly.But her sister was right about two things. She was fat, and she was ugly. People had said it to her face before. She hated every inch of herself. She was horrible. Hideous. She needed to help herself. So, one afternoon, locking herself in her room, she found a knitting needle and a pencil sharpener.
She twisted the small screw away from the metal and the small blade fell out. She stared at the small figure in her hand. She was ready. She pulled up her shorts and stared at her chubby thighs. She twisted the cool metal between her fingers. She placed it on her flesh, gently swiping it across the pale skin. Not enough to draw blood, no, she was a good girl.Just enough to leave a mark. Again, down her right thigh, nine more times. Onto her left thigh. She sliced four times and then it came to her. Using the tip of the blade, she drew the word ugly in all capital letters. She slid on long pants. That night, Grace skipped dinner, feeling sickened by her former actions. {~•~}The next afternoon, Erika came over. Little did she know, her best friend was wearing shorts under her long pants. Grace pulled Erika into her closet and gave her a sad look. "I need to show you something." Grace whispers. Erika nods, not expecting what she was about to see. She gaped at the red marks on Grace's pale skin. "Why did you do that?" Erika asks, looking up at her hazel eyed friend. "Because I'm fat and ugly." Grace whispers. "No your not, please, please promise me you'll never do this again?" Erika asks. "Promise." Later that night, after everyone was asleep, the two girls flushed the blade. Together.
She did it again. She had relapsed. Broken a promise. Broken was she. Depressed, hanging on by a thread.
It was early on the morning. Her father had already left for work. She tip toed into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She swiftly made her way to the bathroom and locked the door. She pulled up the bottom of her shorts and took a deep breath. Sliding the cool blade against her still warm skin, she sighed. The release she needed. Six down, eight around, three X's. That was just the left thigh. Twice as many on the right. She was only tracing though. Not drawing blood.She sobbed into her hands silently. She lay on the cold lanolimun floor, weeping. After her short moment, she went back to the kitchen and rinsed the knife. Placing back in the block she went to her room and sobbed.
