Unpretty

Unpretty - 11

I throw the shard of glass to the sink and wash my hands, frantically trying to get rid of all the blood.

Get rid of the blood and get rid of that thought.

I can still find a way, I whisper to myself repeatedly while I watch my blood mix in with the water, dulling its beautiful crimson shade until I can’t see it no more.

For a moment back there I considered ending my life and escape the agony. 

Almost lost in a trance, I thought about getting the easy way out. 

Yet as the blade slowly gets near my trembling and bare skin, a faint undertone slowly inches its way to my consciousness. 

It tells me to stop being a spineless creature that buries herself in self-pity.   

In the back of my mind I know I’m not a coward.  I will not kill myself.

Like a light piercing a dark room, a sliver of hope finds its way to me.

As long as I breathe, I can still find a way.  No matter how impossible it is, I will find a way. 

I turn off the water and look at my hands.  Blood still flows from the cuts.  I wrap my hands in paper towels as I clumsily walk towards the bathroom to find bandages.

In a few steps I reach the bathroom and turn on the lights.The towels are soaked in my blood and start to fall to the floor. 

Somehow, the bleeding won’t stop.  Maybe pathetic little me will die of blood loss after all.

I rummage the place for bandages and manage to find some.  Haphazardly, I wash my hands once again and wrap it up.

In all my panic and terror, I absently do something I haven’t done since I got back.

I stand face to face with myself in the mirror I’ve been avoiding. 

The cover must have fallen when I overturned the place for the first aid kit. 

Now I see myself; my reflection making me feel more broken than I already am. 

And just as it always happens, I flinch whenever I see me.

This time, I force myself not to turn away from the mirror;

Thinking that maybe if I stare at it too long I might learn to accept it. 

But as I look at myself, I start to notice once again all my imperfections.  I start to see my ugliness.  

I run my hands along my cheeks, my forehead and my nose and feel every bone underneath my ghastly skin.

I run it all over my face as if to find comfort in it. 

As if my reflection would tell me everything’s gonna be okay. 

Tell me what to do, I whisper.

I said I can't upload yet but here it is.  Nothing monumental happens in this part though, just that she didn't kill herself. hehe. Thank you Bob Dylan for helping me write this down. Peace out!