We're Broken Too You Know

Farkle

I sent the message. I sent Riley the message telling her what has been going on. What was I thinking? If my step-mom finds out she WILL do something. I don't know what she's fully capable of doing! I messed up. I should've told her that.
But, the more important thing is, I know now what's been going on with Riley. She's being bullied. She feels worthless. Like her parents don't care anymore. And I know exactly how she feels. That girl is like a sister to me. I've known her since 1st grade. If she ends her life, it might just push me over the edge.

And honestly, that might not be such a bad thing.

I mean other than Riley, no one cares about me anymore. Not even f***ing MAYA! She and I had been friends since 3rd grade. And now she's just too busy making out with Lucas's face 24/7. She wouldn't care if I took my life. Lucas wouldn't care if I took my life. My dad wouldn't care if I took my life. The stepmonster wouldn't care. No one except Riley freaking Matthews would care. I had to stay for her though. She would have no one without me.
___________one day later_____________

I came home after another crap day in the hell hole. More name calling, texts and horrible notes. I was feeling fed up. I wanted to end it all. But, I couldn't do that. So I went into my bathroom, and took out my blade. I hadn't done it in 2 full days. And I was about to relapse. I didn't care anymore. I needed to be able to control some of the shitty pain in my life. I needed to know that I was still alive. I took the blade and drew it to my left wrist. Without hesitation I made 1 cut. And 2. And 3. And 13 more on that arm. I repeated the same pattern on my right wrist. But, that pain wasn't enough. I took off the short sleeved shirt I had been wearing under my sweater. I drew the blade to my skin. I made 1, 2, 3, and 9 more cuts on my stomach. Then moved to my thighs. I looked on the mirror.
"You fat, ugly faggot. No one will ever wanna date you. You stupid done of a bïtch!" Daniel's words rang through my mind.

I took out the first aid kit and cleaned myself up. Then I looked around my bathroom until I found what I was looking for: a scale.
I stepped on to it and looked in horror at what I read. 132 pounds.

I put on a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt. It was only 6:30 but I went to bed anyways. I didn't NEED dinner after all, right?