Eyes close, mouth shut, and body numb; he feels nothing. He feels so emtpy and alone in this world. His dreams are most people nightmares. He just wants to die, he doesn't want to live anymore. What is there to live for in this crazy messed up. We will all end up dead anyways.
Laying on his bed, he sees the truth. He has fought and pushed his way though life but he is finished he doesn't want to fight anymore. How many times had he been called fat, a fag, or ugly? There are so many names that he has heard, but if he had to count them, there would be to many. Words hurt, sometimes even more then when he was punch or kicked. These words were killing him.
Silent tears fell down his pale cheeks. He just listen to the silents that filled his room, he felt at peace. No one would be home for at least two more hours. Not that he minded though, he enjoy being alone. He always felt alone when he was with his family and friends, they didn't know a thing. They would never know till the end.
He always hated when his friends joked about the whole cutting, and the eating disorder. About the kids who were depressed. It was to real to him. He had struggled with his depression for over two years. Two years of hiding and lies.
Being honest, he couldn't remember the last time he was completely happy. The last time he was happy without feeling any type of pain. The time he ate without feeling guilty. He couldn't remember what it was like having skin with out scars covering it.
He walked to the bathroom and stared in the mirror. All he could see was lifeless blue eyes and short black hair. He didn't see the boy he used to be. The boy who lived his life without a care in the world. Who loved his family and his friends... A boy who felt loved.
In the mirror was just a monster living in his body. The monster grew and grew everyday, getting worse. The monster lived in his head telling him he was nothing, that no one could save him. This boy stared in the mirror and after a while he saw something. Something that scared him. The boy he used to gone, he was gone.
He screamed and pulled at his hair, he was sick of this! The boy was tired of these feelings that controlled, he wished to be the old him again. The shiney little blade caught his eye. He froze and slide the the ground and pulled out the little bag of blades he had hidden. There were a total of thirty-eight blades, he had collect.
He cut from her wrist to his elbow on his right arm before moving on to his left arm. He watched to blood pour out of the tiny, long cuts. Grabbing the orange bottle and he tried to take off the lid. After about ten minutes it broke and little red and white pills fell to the floor. The boy dive after them and grabbed them one by one, stuffing them in to his mouth.
When his older brother and mom got home, he was already gone.
