Just a Girl

This is my Home

-----

What is a home to me? My home is this land of oblivion, this place where I can lay and think of nothing but good thoughts. Remember that place I described earlier? That is my home. I can sit and talk to my friend about anything. I tell him everything about me. I feel comfortable telling him things I never would expect myself to think about on my own. He's always there for me and I am thankful for him endlessly. Although he is always there for me I have never seen him before, I only hear his whispers in the whirling wind.

I wake up and I'm still laying in my bed and everything is as normal. I'm in my green room, decorated with white furniture and a very comfy black and white bed. Then I start to think about him. I think it is weird that I always talk to him and we confide in each other and that we are so close to each other, yet i don't know who he is. I try to imagine my friend that I only contact through my phone. I imagine he is a little taller than my 5'5 stature, and that he has sandy blonde hair with big blue eyes. I feel that his hugs of welcome and understanding are warm and tight, that his hugs wrap me up and make me forget anything but him and our friendship. I want to meet him so badly but I can't, he can't see me. I am too afraid for him to see me. What if he thinks I'm hideous? What if I can't control my emotions around him and start crying in my normal relapse? What if he abuses me like everyone else in my life? Ugh, when school starts and I actually have to meet him, I think I might just die.

I look at the bruise on my face and gently finger over my cheek. Looking in the mirror I trace over all of the marks on my body, counting them as I go, 1, 2, 3.....14. As I get to 14 I stop and think of my friend. A small tear escapes from my eyes. It rolls down my cheekbone and past the bruise, slightly illuminating it as it passes. It skims down my neck as I stare blankly into the mirror. I shake off the thoughts and throw my pillow off of me and walk into my bathroom and lock the door behind me.

I turn on the shower. I look at the first drawer on the right, a wooden drawer filled with combs, brushes, hair gel, and at the back, a pair of scissors. The handle of them are white with green flowers. It has a pink cap on the end of them for safety. I slowly take off the cap, as I let out a slight sigh, already feeling relief fill within me. I set the cap on the counter. Looking at my wrist I see happiness, I see something I can control, I see 32 permanent lines of commitment. I open up the scissors with a forceful jolt, springing them to life. I slip my thumb through one of the loops on the scissors and put my forefinger on one side of the blade. With the other side I slowly but deeply etch into my wrist but another line. By now I don't feel anything so I go deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Until crimson liquid is streaming down my arm. Once this space on my arm is filled with lines, I am feeling better, though shaking. Because this is still unsatisfactory I move my utensil to a different part of my body, one that I hate desperately and wish to change. One that I hate everyday and wish to hurt. My thigh is this part of which is covered in length and width with the memories of my past, present, and future.

After all of my painting is done, and my canvas is lovely colors of red, I just sit there. Thinking about nothing I stare at the wall, wanting to scream and cry and laugh all at the same time. What is done is done, and two months of being clean is washed down the drain. And flushed down the toilet. Once I step in the warm shower, I immediately feel the stinging throughout my body. I cry, as the only place I can do it is here, where no one will see me and no one knows.

*Why do I have to be so pathetic? Why am I so fat, ugly, stupid, not good enough, not a good friend, unpopular? Why?*

While taking my shower I hear the creak of the door, and listen closely as all of a sudden I hear a WHAM! The back of the door slams into the wall and I hear footsteps. The shower door opens and my dad is standing there. All I remember is him seeing my cuts and him slamming me against the wall, and slowly my vision blacks out.

----

All I ask to keep continuing on this book is 2 votes and one comment! Please, just tell me what you think. Anything helps me! Thank you for reading! -Crystal ❤