Have you ever wondered what it was like to lose all hope in life? To cut yourself?
Well walk into the ocean, don’t stop walking. Just keep going deeper, and deeper, and deeper, and deeper, keep going. You’re starting to think it might be a good idea if you took a breath? Well you can’t you’re too far gone to breathe. The only thing you can do is go deeper. And deeper. You can’t get out of the water you’re stuck underneath the waves. You really really want to breathe, to not have to worry about what’s going to happen to you, but it’s too late. You’re already out over your head. Your feet are stuck to the ocean floor. You couldn’t escape now even if you wanted to. All you’ll ever be is stuck, trapped and hopeless.
You desperately want someone to reach out a hand and save you, but you're so ashamed of what you’ve become that you won’t cry out for help. You don’t want to see the disappointment in they’re eyes. After all they couldn’t save you. Right? You’re a lost cause. Anyways who would want to save you?
It’s like always being in the dark cold days of winter and just when you think spring is coming everyone else moves into spring except for you. You’ll always be stuck in winter. Sad, cold, dark, rainy, days. Since everyone else is in spring they don’t get it. They’ll say you look sad, tired, and many other things. Well you are sad and tired. You are feeling like there might be something wrong with you now. After all they stopped talking to you for a reason right? You feel ugly. You feel fat. Now you stop eating. You feel like no one cares about you anymore.
Now you’ve been depressed for a year. People talk to you. They act like you’re fine. Maybe it’s because they saw your scars. The ones from before you relocated to your thighs, now your thighs hurt. It hurts to walk. When people hug you your stomach hurts from the cuts there. But your legs, oh your legs they only have around three hundred cuts.
Each.
It’s been a three and a half years. People don’t even say you look sad anymore. You’ve mastered the art of always smiling. When that girl sits on your lap you hide the wince. Those new hundred cuts on each leg really hurt right about now. That’s alright. You deserve it. Don’t you? I mean even your family calls you ugly, fat, almost anything that hurts they can think of. You stopped singing. I mean it means the world to you but people hate it when you sing. Except for one but one against ten? That’s not very good odds. Go pick up that blade. Make a few new cuts and don’t forget to weigh yourself. One hundred and thirty three pounds is waaaaaaay to heavy for a five foot six inch girl, ask anyone.
Swimming is a thing that you can only do in long shorts. Even then it’s risky, Very risky. If people saw your cuts who knows what they would say to you. Anyways jeans and long sleeves have become your personal style. You would wear all black but that’s what depressed people wear, you wouldn’t want people to think you’re depressed.
Now it’s October, the end of October and you can wear long sleeves and jeans without worrying about someone telling you to take your sweater off. Much better. Everyone who you ever trusted has done something to you to make you not trust them anymore. You swore you would never trust anyone again. But then he was there. He didn’t judge you, he just loved you. You contemplate telling him about your cuts, but what if he doesn’t love you anymore. It isn’t the kind of love like you might think but a brother and a sister. He’s married after all but he takes time to listen, it makes you somewhat happy. You are never really truly happy everything has turned grey. Everyone else is always happy, and if they aren’t happy they soon feel better. Not like you. You are always sad. It doesn’t matter though you deserve it.
You really, really, really want to just end all the suffering. Should tonight be the night? You have many options what one should it be? The pills? The gun? The knife? The roof? It would all be over. Just write a little note to those who you care about. Even though you pretend not to care about anyone it’s all an act. You care very much what is happening to them. You will help them if you can. You give them songs that will help if they are going through a tough time; you hug them when they need it. You pray for them. But you can’t help yourself. It would probably be best to kill yourself, right?
You’re sitting on the roof this is decision time, to jump or not to jump? Does it even matter? Will anyone even miss you? Probably not. Anyways you’re just the girl in the corner that’s always smiling. Always. You decide you need to say goodbye to him before you say goodbye to yourself. Soon. Soon it will all be over.
You turn on The Last Night by Skillet and start to cry. Once the tears start coming they don’t stop. You’re wishing that someone, anyone would care enough to let this be your last night alone, if someone would just hold you and love you even with all your scars it would be so much easier. You whisper I’m sorry and add just a few cuts. It’s funny that three years ago a few cuts would have been maybe ten, but now it’s more like a hundred, they don’t even really hurt.
At first when you started cutting you needed control over something, that’s why you stopped eating and started cutting. Now you cut because you can’t stop. By needing control you lost control. Oh how ugly you feel. You’ll never be beautiful again with all these scars, there are close to a thousand. Most of them on your thighs, you tried to quit and made it long enough that a lot of them were faded out to where you can barely see them. Then you cut again. Another five hundred is no big deal I promise.
Your legs and hips hurt soooooo bad, you definitely didn’t miss this but it’s your life. I mean your blade is your best friend you even named her, Aria was your name of choice because it’s a pretty name.
Authors Note: This is my story. If you’ve ever wondered what it was like to cut read this. Study it and you’ll know.
With love
Ashley
