Ghost In The Snow

Chapter 20: Anyway, I'm alive

Trigger warnings:  self harm and anxiety are mentioned

Time went by. It could be a second, a day, a year. Neither; 42 days went by. A bit more than a month. Nothing special, nothing worth talking about had happened. Because the only person, who has changed or anything has happened to, is me. And it's not for the better. Anyone could see that, even though I have tried to hide it.

I think they've noticed.

They squint their eyes at me. They look concentrated, like they are trying to see, what's happening and what have changed. Yet they look confused. They can't see it, because I hide it. And I hide it well enough, so that they don't question my changing behaviour. Yet.

But it is difficult to hide it. It's hard to hide stuff like this. It's hard to hide, who you are, who you are turning into.

I feel stressed. School has taxed my health. I often get no sleep, and when I have the time to sleep... My thoughts take charge an..they literally scare me. I've run out of place on my arms, well, that was weeks ago. Now my thighs and stomach are covered in red stripes from my knife as well.

I feel so damn insecure. From so many reasons.

One, my cuts. The fear of my friends, family, or teachers seeing them. If they just get a glimpse of them, I'm in trouble. Seriously. Maybe they'll send me to a doctor or psychologist, and they'll probably send me to some sort of prison for mentally unstable teenagers. And that is not my plan for the next five years of my life.

Two, my anxiety. It's not getting better, actually, worse. It's like a black hole, I'm falling and falling, I can't escape now. Soon I've fallen to the bottom of the endless, hopeless deep, and the black hole will close around me. I'm slowly tearing myself apart in the most painful way.

Three, school. I can't stand up in front of the class or even say anything in class. I can't. Probably because of my anxiety, but still.. I'm so afraid of being wrong. And when another person says exact words I was going to say, I hate myself even more. I could have gotten a better grade because of this, but oh no, tiny Tess can't even say some few words, no one will care about anyway.

But nothing had happened. I walked home 42 days ago and cut. I have dragged myself to school way too many times, and to be honest I can't tell the difference between Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays anymore. They all blur together, and I can't keep track of the time.

Now you're thinking: but what about Fridays and Sundays? Yeah, they are slightly different. On Fridays I feel a tiny bit happier in the morning, but when I go to school, I feel hopeless again. Everyone seems so happy because of weekends, but I don't care anymore. And when I come home, I feel more tired than for example Mondays.

And Sundays... Let's just call them my suicide days. Not that that's my weekly attempt of suicide, but Sundays are the worst days. The thought of another week of school, cuts, hopelessness and the worst thing... life.

And in all of that time the boys and I hadn't talked about something special.

Frank seemed quite positive and happy, not worrying about anything at the moment. He sent me some shallow smiles, and we talked about unimportant, random stuff. It seemed like he was over me. Which was good, I guess. He knew, it was over for real. It took some time for him to realize it, but that's okay.

Mikey didn't show any emotions towards me nor interest, but I knew, that he knew, I wasn't doing great. I could see it deeply in his eyes. He was kinda nervous, worried about me. But he wasn't totally sure yet (again, I'm good at hiding this), so he hadn't said anything yet. Or maybe he really knew, but he was still finding the right words. He had to hurry up a bit though, or it'll be too late soon.

Ray was still kind of stressed, but I think he's getting better. He's talking more and don't have as much headache as he used to. He's probably getting better, because Frank also got better, so he don't have to be Frank's psychiatrist anymore. But maybe he had to be mine soon..

I was worried about Gerard. Not that anything was wrong with him, but I was worried about what he knew, or more like what he suspected about me.

He was the one, who pressed his lips together, squinted his eyes, tilted his head a bit to the side and looked at me with compassion. He sighed at me, when I pulled my sleeves down.

I think, I actually saw his eyes get wet after this happened: We were all sitting under the tree, Gerard next to me. It was all silent. They looked impatient. Gerard asked: "So, how are you, Tess?", and he quickly laid his hand on my arm. The pressure from his hand on my arm made me gasp, since the cuts still were sore. It felt like my skin was burning. I pulled my arm away instantly, so close to crying from the pain. Not just the physical pain, also the mental pain. I didn't want to disappoint Gerard, he was allowed to touch my arm, but here I was, not being able to answer: "I'm fine, thank you. I feel so great today!" Instead I muttered: "I'm fine."

Anyway, to put it briefly, time went by, and everything is going wrong.