The Vacant Truth

Melody

I'm sitting at my park bench, and I can't help but let the tears fall out. I think that the adrenaline from the idea of finding Molly's killer has distracted me from my other problems. Now the reality of my situation has hit me full force and I can't help but cry. I don't have a house, I don't have any money, and I don't have any food. I know I have to get help, but I don't know who to get it from. I feel so lost and confused. I can continue to sleep on this park bench as long as I'm careful, but how will I shower? What will I do when it rains? How will I find food to eat every day?

My problems keep overwhelming me and I realize I'm drowning in them. I realize that as soon as one problem disappears, another one just comes to take its place. I just want the pain to go away. I want to make all of my problems go away, even if it's only for a few minutes. I walk over to the bush where I've hidden my bags and dig around in one of them until I find the object I'm looking for. It glints in the fading sunlight as I pull it out of my bag. I zip my bag back up and hide it under the bush again. I look around and run into the edge of the woods that surrounds the park.

As soon as I see that I am far away enough from any human being, I pull out the object again. I examine it in deep thought, it's a razor. Can I really bring myself to do this? I've never done it before, but now that I don't have to worry about my father finding out, what do I have to worry about? I've managed to hide my depression away from my friends so I know I'll be able to hide this from them. I need to do this, I need to escape from my problems. This will allow me the sweet release that I need. I pull up my sleeves and shakily bring the razor towards my left arm. "I can do this," I think to myself. I slowly bring it down so it pierces my skin and drag it along my skin. I hiss at the pain, but at the same time, I also relish it. I concentrate on it and watch as the blood pours out of the cut. I do the same thing and make another cut on my skin.

As I make the cut, I close my eyes and focus on the pain. It lets me know that I'm still in control, it lets me know that I'm still alive and human. It lets me know that I've finally let myself stop worrying about what anybody will think. I've finally allowed myself the release I need. I've let myself break out of the tight hold society had on me by doing something I know that it will never accept. The pain reminds me that at least I'm deciding things for myself and I'm no longer letting what others will think control me.

I make a few more cuts and accept the pain before I realize I should stop or I'll pass out from blood loss. I wait for the blood to clot a little before pulling my sleeves down and walking back to my park bench. I put my razor back in my bag and I sit down. I promise myself that I will not get addicted to cutting, it's only for when I really need to escape from this cruel world. I promise myself that I will try to get better, but I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I never will.