Her eyes watered at the stinging sensation of the blade gliding against her skin. It hurt, but it was more than okay. She deserved it. She was a waste of space. Worthless. Nothing.
That's what they told her. The kids at school. She believes in the law 'majority rules'.
She had attempted suicide once before. She tried to overdose, but she was so young that she took the first pills she saw. It was a weak medicine. It left her with kidney damage. She didn't even end up in the hospital. The voices in her head mocked her foolishness, venom dripping in their tones. 'Weak attempt Natalya. Hah! You're so useless you can't even kill yourself correctly!'
There are four stages of depression, and Natalya was no stranger to most of them. Apart from the fourth. She longed for it, though. Stage one; the trauma. The thing that you saw or experienced that shook your very soul. Stage two; the unbearable sadness. This comes with pretending you're okay, too. Stage three; the not caring. Being reckless. Stage four; being gone. Floating through time weightlessly.
She often wondered about her funeral. Would there be one? Would people turn up? Would they be sad? Would she see it?
Who knows. But Jasmine didn't want to find out, she didn't particularly care. She just wanted to be gone. To float.
