pain.
it was the only thing that seemed real to her.
the glint of the razor when the light shone on it.
the deep crimson colour that flowed from the cuts she made across her wrists, thighs, arms, stomach.
they were all a separate world from the pain.
they were just things that made people think she was different.
but everyone felt pain.
she could be normal if she was hurting.
she just hurt in a different way.
she hurt because she needed to feel real.
and she hurt because she hated herself.
by the time she was done there were 24 new cuts across her body.
1 cut was for eating all that food.
3 cuts were for making her sister have to put up with her.
7 cuts were because she was a burden to her parents.
4 were for not being good at anything.
and the rest were for being alive.
YOU ARE READING
why try?
Poetryshe had it all. depression. anxiety. bulimia. she binged often. she cut herself. she cried. and then it got too much. so she did the only thing that seemed possible to escape the darkness that controlled her, haunting her, following her. su...
