Rays of Imagination

Drowning

Think of an empty bag of chips that you have nothing to do with except throw it in the trash. Sure, what was in it once, you took it and left the bag in the trash can, because it was a piece of trash, right? That's how I felt. Used. Worthless. Not needed. Like trash.

They came after me. Told me truths that I would've never imagined as the truth. I drowned little by little in my own faults as I realized. Realized everything. All my mistakes. Everything I had done was a mistake. I was alone to face myself. I tortured myself. It was plain agony.

I completely deserved what they did to me. All the pain they gave me, I felt numb towards it compared to my mental suffering. I deserved even more of the torment. I deserved it for the rest of my life.

Nobody paid any attention. Maybe they knew how much I deserved it. Or maybe they didn't see what I was going through. My family. Sure, they asked why I looked so down. Once. But I waved it off. Said I was fine in a cheerful voice. Fake. All of it was fake. But they couldn't see through it. It wasn't so nice to be great at lying anymore, was it?

My friends. They walked with me laughing and chatting. They didn't notice how quiet I was. When they asked me something, I replied with a yes or no, or maybe even a mumble. But they didn't notice. Too engulfed in their own happy life, I guess, to care about others.

But, oh well. I deserved it. I deserved all of it. I was thankful for the way they all treated me.

And then it became even worse. I cried myself to sleep every night. I got sick because of it, but I didn't tell anyone. I wanted to dwell happily in the torture. And I was. But something was missing. I needed more anguish. Or maybe it needed to turn physical.

Maybe.

That thought entered my mind for a second but left. For the time being at least. I started having nightmares. Horrible nightmares. The bullies (should I really call them that? They were helping me realize the truth) turning into monsters, or me cutting myself like all those terrible videos online. Or my own friends and family turning against me.

And then those nightmares came to life. One of them, anyway.

One day, all of it got too much for me. Right after school, I locked myself into the bathroom, making a pact to myself. I will never do all those horrible things again, I thought to myself. To seal the pact, I quietly grabbed a knife from the kitchen, put my wrist over the bathroom sink and...

My wrist screamed in pain. But it was oddly satisfying. You deserve this. It's your own fault.

I had expected that to be a once in a lifetime occurrence. But then I did it again. To make myself realize how stupid I'd been.

And then I got addicted.

I cut myself everyday. It became a part of my daily routine. I wore long sleeves to cover them up. I never wore shorts or skirts. Even in the summer.

I smiled to myself whenever I felt the knife slicing through my skin. It felt wonderful. I ignored the pain. I liked the pain. It was delightful.

Once, my sleeve accidentally rolled up and someone saw a scar. "Freak!" they shouted. I smiled. That, I was.

It got worse everyday. My friends left me. They realized that I was weird. A freak.

My parents were too busy with work. With my younger siblings' tantrums. With my elder siblings' whines. They didn't notice how much I was hurting. But I was okay with that. They didn't need to troubled with worrying about me. They had their own problems.

That went on for a long time. I started losing my appetite. Didn't eat dinner. My parents eventually started worrying about me, although I didn't want them to.

And then I finally realized.

What did I even have left? Nothing could save me from myself, now. It was over.

I was done.