Broken Wings } TaeGi

broken 5

Broken 5

Attention; Selfharming thoughts, other depressed stuff, omg I am sorry.

Yoongi POV

I stepped out of the shower, after finally daring to leave my room after chatting with Taehyung and taking all of my medication and pills. Fortunately my daddy wasn't home anymore this morning.

I got my body and hair dry with three different towels, then I put on my clothes, but as soon as my glance passed the mirror, I looked at my still- bare upper body.

My scars and wounds were the only thing I really liked about my body.

They were part of me, always work to memorize me of how much I fucking hate my fucking life and especially my fucking self. Probably those two 'fuckings' were too much for one thinking phrase, but I didn't mind.

I mean - I would never curse like that in reality. Actually - I almost never talked, only if I really had to. So cursing totally was out of question.

I ran the fingercups of my sore hand along the scars on my arms and my waist.

God. How I missed cutting. I really missed it.

But I wasn't allowed.

I promised Taehyung to stay strong. To not hurt myself.

And still.

As soon as I saw my face in the mirror, I wanted to just punch the glass and cut my wrists with the shards. Just getting rid of all those damn feelings and thoughts, just to feel free - at least for one or two moments.
 
It was hard to stay strong. Actually - all that my reflection showed me was the weak, completely rotted and ugly me. My self that I hated more than anything or anyone on that earth.

But just the next moment Taehyung came to my mind. Again. I finally saw a photo of him. And I didn't lie with all the words I wrote to him. He indeedly was beautiful. Hell'la beautiful.

How did I deserve such a beautiful person to care and worry so much about me?

I was glad that taking a higher dose of my anti-shizophrenic pills really helped, at least half of the day, to chase away the voices out of my head. Else I'd be sure they'd keep shouting me, that I was alone. That there wasn't anyone who cared about me. That I only was good to be fucked by my daddy. And that I was the one who made my mother the way she is now. Depressed and tired of life. Just like me.

I was only 16... or already 17? I didn't know, I hated birthdays anyway. I never had friends or neither had a family who wanted to celebrate, so I just let the days and years pass by, waiting for death to finally haunt me someday.

I haven't tried committing suicide for around 2 years now. That was just because I didn't want to return to that damn closed mental hospital for children and teens ever again. I hated my past child- therapist for just stucking me in there 3 years ago.

And if I wouldn't make it to kill myself again - I'd definetly land in there once more or in an even worse instituition. It was like - the biggest fear of my life.

But I tried to let those thoughts fade. The voices weren't talking to or shouting at me this moment, so I had no reason to think of them, nor did I have a reason to recall my shit life right now.

So I quickly put my black, overbig-sized Hoodie over my head, then I left the bathroom, leaving my beloved razorblades in the little cabinet right under the sink.

For Taehyung.

I will try to be strong.

At least this time.

For now.

(God.. I am so sorry to Yoongi that I have to bury him with my own depressed thoughts, haha. ;^;)