When I got home, I get straight upstairs to my quiet room. I flickered on the light and there it was. (Picture on side) Smiling, I threw my book bag into the corner and threw my hands into my hoodie pocket. I found a quaint and humbly torn note in my pocket. 'Text me. :x Nathan' I read aloud to myself, running my fingers over the pen marks and numbers. I would try it later, I told myself as I brought my pink laptop to my lap. I ran my fingers across the keyboard for a moment before logging onto my social media accounts. 'Josh just broke up with me. omg.' 'i hate life. fml' 'EW.Koti is such a slut!' I go back ad reread the previous comment, my eyes wide. I click on the status. "Skaii," I whisper, reading the person's name aloud subconsciously. I moved my hand over wearily to the comments. 'What happened?!' 'wtf?' 'what is this bullshit?' 'she was trying to make a move on the nathan boy. 1st day of school. wtf?' 'such a whore' 'this is why i aint her friend 'for real?' 'omg eww'
I kept reading, barely stomaching all the hateful comments. I turned on my music and the screaming and heartfelt meaning brought me to tears, scanning back over the comments. Again and again, I kept staring. I'm a whore. I'm a bitch. I'm a slut. Ew. I'm a fat and hateful pig anyway. I refreshed the page, hoping some savior would come to my help. "Kill yourself," whispered the screen. It's whisper was a song that drifted to my hair, the music coming to an end and my burning white tears kicking into breathless sobs, raking my whole body. I swiped away the computer with all my strength, hearing it bash to the floor. I closed my burning eyes, the darkness stinging more than reality. I was breathless, not even able to choke and sputter and cry right. I finally calmed myself enough to walk to the bathroom that connected to my room. I splayed a dark red towel across the sink, the tears and effects crawling down my face and showering me with hits to the heart.
I nimbly stretched out from my clothes, taking off my hoodie and ect. until I was let bare naked, in the show, crying in fetile position. I hugged my knees tighter to me, becoming more sad the more I sobbed and the more I cried. I stood up shakily, not turning off the water, nothing. I slowly walked out of the shower and reached up to the top most cabinet. I took out a beautiful razor from there, the cold piece of metal gentle and cold in my hands. I stripped it of it's cover and held it firmly in my hands as I re-entered the shower. I looked down to my scarred hips, thighs, and sides, My wrists have gotten so had, they spread and grew all the way to my shoulders, so I had to find my escape else where. I added pretty little lines, deep little lines that spread across my side, reach my bottom rib. I kept crying, the cold metal feeling so important to me, like it was my other three quarters. I threw it at the wall, disgusted at what I've become. I was a failure. I should've killed myself with that ugly piece of fuck monkeys. I turned off the shower and bent down, seeing a sad little girl in the reflection. Her wet hair looking brown, her face swollen and double it's size, her lip trembling wearily, and her eyes. Oh, her eyes sung a sad song all by it's self. No one knew this is what I dreamt of at night. You've never woken in the middle of the night with the thought of scarring razors, have you? It's an addictive feel that you always crave and burn and itch for.
I was still coming to my senses as I finally picked up the razor, twirling it in my fingers. I dried up and dressed myself in pink and purple dotted PJ's. I was still twirling the wicked, twisted little thing in my hand. I bit my lip, demanding the tears threatening the back of my eyelids. I then reopened my calming blue eyes that flitted with anxiety and hopelessness. I took the razor and promptly hid it in one of my Converse shoe boxes that were left under my bed at all times. I stretched my fingers out and placed it gently, the evil and sick weapon that I use to destroy a little part of me every time I hate myself.
I collapsed at my bedroom door, sliding down the solid figure with my back pressed against the cool surface. I pulled my phone out and dialed Nathan's number. 'Hi(: ' I texted him. No one can tell the emotional stance your at at that point in time. That's what I love about texting. I then stood up, holding the phone in my hand as I walked downstairs where my mom and dad were obliviously not here. I carried myself over to the fridge, thinking tonight will be an excellent binge and purge night. I took out the whole carton of cookie dough icecream and a spoon, piling myself down onto the couch and draping a blanket over myself. I took a huge spoonful of icecream and shoveled it into my mouth as I got a text back from Nathan. 'Dakotia?' He answered. I smiled softly as my tongue began to identify each flavor that compacted itself slowly into a liquid. 'Yes,' I replied back, tapping the coma at the end extra hard to feel completed. I don't know, I guess I'm weird. He asks whats up, I tell him I'm at a park. The conversation and beauty of it all continues. I just needed to talk to someone after that emotional breakdown, I guess. After I finished, it was nine o'clock at night. I was more full than ever so I put away all my mess, went up stairs, and sat down infront of the toilet. Guilt was starting to rise.
Why are you fat? So unattractive. Ew. I'd be disgusted with if I saw me. I just stared into the toilet, took the toothbrush, and started to gag. Tears rushed to my eyes. I began to shake. The vomit came two times, and then it was just acid. My tears were icey cold against my warm, burning skin. I felt so humiliated. Other girls didn't have to do that to be skinny. Some girls are pretty. But, not me. That's how I honestly felt.
