Chapter Two
You smile. Always, if you don’t smile something awful might happen. Like people might think you aren’t fine. I mean that’s what you tell them. “I’m fine.” Biggest. Lie. Ever.
Well maybe not. You know what fine means don’t you? F – Fucked Up. I – Insecure. N – Not Ok. E – Emotional. So yes I am FINE! So maybe I cut myself. Well you would too if even your family called you fat, ugly, stupid, and told you that you can’t sing. Well I’m sorry to tell you this but singing is EVERYTHING to you. Everything.
Well you’re drowning, but you can see everyone else breathing, it looks so wonderful to be able to breathe freely. You can’t and they won’t help me, you’re on my own. No worries. You like drowning now. After three years of it you learn to get used to it and yes, like it. You know jumping sounds so nice, dying sounds nice too, you know ending all the pain?
Sometimes you wonder if people hadn’t hurt you with their words would you still be depressed now? Maybe, maybe not. You feel numb, to everything. People don’t notice.
Usually.
She asked if you were alright, said you looked sad. Well that’s because you are sad. You didn’t reply. You don’t want to lie to more people than necessary, she apparently got the idea that you don’t want to talk about it… but you do. Maybe if someone cared. Anyone cared. It would all just go away and you could feel happy again.
Oh to be happy. You would give anything, then you wouldn’t have to fake smiles, you could laugh with your friends, new friends because once you became depressed they all left. What was so wrong with you that they left? Where you too fat? Too ugly? It would be easier if they had told you why they left…
Isn’t it funny how a paper cut or stubbing your toe can feel like the worst pain ever but taking a blade to your body leaves you feeling nothing? You can cut until you pass out and it still doesn’t hurt as bad as stubbing your toe.
You hate remembering, but you can’t stand to forget. All those memories of sleepless nights, blades being dragged across your thigh, people calling you names… why forget? They were telling the truth weren’t they? If you forget you might start to believe in yourself again…
They are all eating, good food, fattening food, like yummy things, but not you. It’s for the thigh gap. You tell yourself. The thigh gap. The flat stomach, you know thing perfect girls have? The things happy girls have. That thigh gap. All you ate today was one cucumber. Vegetables are not fattening so when you eat they are ‘safe’ foods. Do not eat.
All you want is for someone to hug you really tight and never let you go. For someone to see your scars and tell you that you are beautiful, for them to mean it. Is it too much to ask? Maybe you could save my life with those words… I don’t know, maybe I want to die… I don’t have any idea…
You say you are fine, but on the inside you are screaming for help, just anyone save me from the monster that is me. In other words save me from myself. Someone please be there for me forever?
It isn’t always obvious… you’ve made it almost four years and no one has found out… you keep the scars from knee to hip…. But there are somewhere around one thousand, and counting. It’s gotten worse, last time you cut before your elapse you only added maybe twenty, now every time you cut it’s more like one hundred. It makes you sad to see what you’ve become. You want to stop but every time you look at that body of yours you see too many scars and a fat stomach… barely any thigh gap and think how could anyone love me?
It’s like when you think you’ve hit rock bottom of the darkest scariest hole, the ground cracks and you fall deeper, and deeper. It’s a continuous cycle, a never ending fall. With pauses where you break when you hit the ground and then start falling again.
Sometimes you wonder if, if they knew you cut would they even care? Its beautiful people that they care about and you are far from beautiful, far, far, far from being even remotely beautiful.
Who are they to judge you? Everyone is addicted to something that takes the pain away… only on you it’s visible. On them it’s something funny. Self harm is not funny, even though they make so many jokes about it… they still don’t know your secrets but they trust you with theirs. Of course when you try to open up to them the change the topic right back to themselves soooooo it’s difficult to tell anyone.
Every thought is a battle, every breath is a war…. You don’t feel like you are winning anymore…. In fact instead of just losing, you are giving up. Why fight no matter what you do you are going to die… might as well make it sooner rather than later.
All you feel is numb and after so many years of being sad you don’t know what to do about it. You take it out on yourself with a blade just to prove that you are alive. Fifteen minutes later you are numb again, so you cut again. It’s a never ending cycle.
You feel as if you are a disappointment to everyone, they don’t say it but you can see it in their eyes… they expected better.
You are sorry all the time, everything may as well be your fault, you take the blame for it anyways…
Authors Note:
I know this is not a normal book. It’s the story of my life, my struggle with self harm, anorexia, and depression. Every paragraph is a feeling I have experienced, I am writing this so those of you who are not depressed but want to understand will understand the thought process of a depressed person, please if you know someone who struggles with depression just give them a hug and let them know you are there for them.
With love,
Ashley
