I need violence.

( This is one of my first stories I'm going to write, so I hope I do well. Enjoy~ )

    Well, I'm writing this down because I don't think these thoughts I'm having are necessarily good; in fact, they aren't good, let me rephrase that. These "thoughts" are horrible and no human being should ever even imagine to think of them. Now, you may be wondering what I'm talking about, aren't we all? Well, what I'm saying is that I'm having these grotesque thoughts of murder. Yes, murder. Let me explain..

    It all started during, maybe, sixth grade? I had come back from a terrible school year and summer. Fifth grade was pretty rough; I can't exactly say I lived my first year of middle school in a good atmosphere. It's a long story that no one cares about, so I'll continue my story. During my years of being in sixth grade, I had begun, let's say, "cutting" myself. It wasn't the greatest of ideas. During that time period, I had started to crawl back into my dark, lonely shell. Took me a while to come out, only to my surprise, I get picked up by my hair and thrown mercilessly back in.

    I had started staying up late at night, losing sleep, my grades dropped dramatically. I can't say my parents were too proud of me. They weren't very supportive either. I showed various signs of depression, but I stayed in my room so my parents wouldn't be asking me about it chronically. I had a normal routine I went through everyday. It went a little something like this: Sleep, sleep more, get screamed at, go to school, fake a smile for a couple hours, come home, lie. I never actually told my mom how my day was. It was the bland, "Good," everytime. I did the usual and went to my room, I looked in the mirror, pinched my sides, and sadly sat back down.

    I sat in my bed and replayed all of the voices I heard today, "Freak! Loser! Fat ass! Emo bitch! Retard!" My eyes began you fill up with tears, but I refused to let myself cry. I was the kind of person who thought she was tough and didn't need to cry. I didn't want to cry infront of others or seem, "weak". I had always been the kind of person who didn't show her emotions. I'd rather cry silently in my mind or in the shower than show people how much of a baby I am. People always think I'm tough, and I can take on anyone, truth be told, I cry during Titanic everytime I watch it. I scanned my eyes around my room, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the blade..

( That was chapter 1. Give some feedback for chapter 2~)