Hell Above (p.t.v)

⭐️Chapter 1.Going To Hell

Chapter 1.Going To Hell

[[STARTED ON JANUARY 3RD,2014 THIS WAS MY FIRST BOOK EVER ON WATTPAD AND I WAS DEEPLY INTO MY EMO EXTREMO PHASE !!! MY WRITING HERE IS SO CRINGEWORTHY??¿¿]]

you've been warned.

~

Jessica's P.O.V

The jagged and shattering death knell of my lavish sleep occured when my irritating dick of an alarm clock rang, sounding like a nagging bitchy girlfriend. More specifically, Lina Sivan and Mila McShannon, the bitchest of the bitches. "Ugh," I groaned and flipped to the other side of my bed, grabbing my cellphone to turn off the irritating alarm.

Oh the first day of school. High School. It sickens me, I nearly gagged.

I lay down on the cool, comfortable sheets. I look around at the familiar room, surrounded by the tokens of my childhood memories. Pictures of me and my best friends at the beach, at the park, 5th grade graduation, 8th grade graduation. Why can't I go back? I sighed. I rather go back to being 5 then being 14 entering High school. I looked to the other side of my room which had band posters and such. No matter how much life sucks, there's always some type of escape for me. And mine just so happens to be music. But, yet, life still gets to me.

I'm pretty sure High school is evil. I may not know much about it knowing I'm just going to 9th grade but I watched movies. I'm not sure if they're entirely real *cough cough* High School Musical but, apparently high school is where self-esteem and dreams are crushed. But hah, both of those were crushed for me back when I was 11. I'm terrified.. But look at the bright side, at least I have my best friends right?

I sighed, I wasn't even ready for High school. I'm not trying to be lazy, it's just that I'm so fucking tired and I have no motivation to succeed and I don't even know why this life is happening to me. I'm so miserable but I laugh at everything.

To attempt to calm myself down, I tried thinking of the first day of middle school.

I had a panic attack and then had to go home.

Ah, great time.

I groaned, and got up out of bed. Time for the usual routine. Do I eat breakfast or starve again? As
always at night, I'll write my suicide note, but only in my head. By tomorrow, I'll wish I was already dead, and yet despite all this, I will still get out of bed.

I stepped into the tiny empty hallway, walking towards the bathroom. As I walked in, I took a look in the mirror. I wasn't happy at what I saw. Honestly, my self-esteem doesn't even exist. I find myself atrocious looking, hideous. I feel like such an abomination in this world, honestly. It's saddening.

My parents aren't that much of a support, at all. I grew up without good nights and good mornings, without hugs and kisses, basic affection. I can't remember the last time I had a normal conversation with either of my parents. It usually ends up in an arguement, where then they degrade me, to make themselves feel better. It's usually my dad, while my mother hides in the background, afraid to stand up towards the monster I'm forced to call father.

To him, I'm a mistake, a disgrace. It's not like I signed up to have him as a father, he could've used a condom to prevent me.

I see flaws in every part of my body, no one would ever want me. Nobody does anyway. As I carefully stripped down my clothes to shower, I stroked my upper arms, they were filled with self-inflicted scars.

I harm because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. A blade stops the screaming, but nothing ends the pain. No matter how hard we try, we can switch through the types of misery we feel but the pain will always be with us and always be real. But this, this is a distraction. As I inscribe lines indicating misery on my arm, I just focus on the blood, not the actual pain or my surroundings. It's a physical addiction, a mental health issue and a emotional trauma.