Papercut (kellic)

Chapter 3: Nightmares

A few minutes after Vic left I finally snapped out of my thoughts. This was the only place in this school I could feel safe. Or at least be alone. What if I'd lost that?

I slowly stood up and walked toward the door. Luckily today I didn't have my class with Vic. Our school works on a block schedule. I had a free period after lunch both days, but the rest of my classes were different. Rather than writing, I got to go to art.

I guess I enjoyed art. I just think we should've been able to do our own thing and be creative. What were we learning from all drawing the same bowl of fruit?

One of the nicest things about art was that it was in a separate building. I found the art students that be more tolerable than the rest of the school. They were more creative, smart, and usually thought more before speaking.

When class started our teacher told us today we could do free sketches. These were my favorite grades. No stress to measure up to the rest of the class, no restrictions.

I delicately set a whit sheet of paper in front of me, sure not to get crinkles in it. The blankness of the page stated up at me, and the blankness in my mind found nothing in it. This never happens. I always have something to draw.

This was Vic's fault. He disrupted my routine and now my brain wasn't working. I decided to just doodle and let my mind go. Obviously no masterpiece would be created that day.

Soon enough my page was filled up with little sketches of hands, flowers, and trees. Right now I was finishing a round eye that took up more of the page than the rest of my drawings. Many times when I doodled I would get so lost in my thoughts that I wouldn't even realize what I was drawing.

I pulled out my favorite colored pencils from my bag. They were the expensive, fancy kind I certainly couldn't afford. Some aunt I'd never met had sent them to me on my birthday. It was the only present I get that year, because both my parents were away. I didn't think they would have remembered anyway.

There were 100 pencils in the container. The variety of shades meant I was always able to find the exact color I wanted. I began pulling varies oranges and browns out until I was happy with the collection I'd made.

I'd drawn many eyes before. Most of them were blue because my own eyes were. I guess today I just felt like brown. I spent the rest of the period coloring everything just right. I was pretty good at realism, especially when drawing body parts.

I finished right before the end of the period. I carefully packed all of my pencils away in perfect order. I stepped back and looked at my drawing. It was actually pretty good, especially for being an unplanned doodle.

All of the sudden something struck me. There was something not right about it. Everything looked anatomically correct and realistic.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. There was nothing wrong with the way I drew it. I was realizing that I knew the eye. I had been staring into it just two hours earlier after all.

I swiped the paper off the table and shoved it into my backpack. I knew no one who saw it would recognize it, but I just couldn't take the risk.

I don't know what could have come over me to make me draw that. It was an accident, but some part of me must to have been aware of what I was doing.

Before the bell even rang I shoved my chair out and left the classroom. I walked as fast as my legs could take me out of the school and began walking home. I put my headphones in and turned Beartooth on as loud as I could handle it. I was hoping I could drown out my thoughts in the music, but of course they were always louder.

At least I was out of that school and away from Vic.

~•~•~

I stared up at the blank white ceiling of my bedroom. My left hand was supporting my head while my right spun a razor around.

It was only a blade from a pencil sharpener, but it would have to do. In my rush to not be late to art, I had left my blades in the sports center.

During my walk home my thoughts had gradually become darker and darker with every step I took. The moment I stepped in the door my hand reached in my bag for my tin. I dumped out my entire backpack before I had given up trying to find it. This lead to a full blown panic attack.

I had immediately gone to my art supplies under my bed and found my pencil sharpener. I broke it open to get to the blade. It was something I guess.

I was calmer now that I had cut. My face felt tight from the dried tears covering it. Even slicing as hard as I could, the blade from the pencil sharpener was nothing like the ones I had forgotten. The bleeding marks on my thigh were only thin lines, barely a couple drops of blood had run down onto my black quilt.

So there I laid, frustrated and I unsatisfied, but no longer panicking.

I was tired of feeling this way. Many people think depression is just being sad all the time, but it's so much more than that.

There were times when my depression came in the form of sadness, but not all the time. A lot of the time it was tiredness and lack of motivation. Another mistake people make with depressed people is confusing that for laziness. It is not being lazy. It is the feeling of physically not being able to do the task at hand. Your mind weighs you down so much that you just can't do anything. If a person has anxiety as well, like I did, it becomes absolute hell to fight back. Then you feel doubt and an unbearable fear of failure, like it's not even worth trying.

Depression isn't constantly the same either. For me it was always there, but worse at some times than others. There would be weeks when I would try at my school work. I would stay up drawing, reading, or writing songs. Then, one little thing would happen, and I would crash again. I would sleep in class, and not be able to pay attention. I would immediately get in to bed when I got home. I cried at random times over very little things. I would stare at the ceiling for hours, allowing dark thoughts to consume my mind.

And that's what was happening on that day. I did not know how many hours I spent staring at my bedroom ceiling. My thoughts were somewhere too far away from time and reality, I had no way to tell.

Who knows when I fell asleep. Nightmares are all I can seem to feel, whether my eyes are open or shut.

Longer chapter, as promised. Kellin's thoughts on depression are based upon the way mine always seemed to work. It's always bothered me how ignorant people can be to the realities of it. Depression is deeply variable and personal. Just some thoughts.
~Lauren

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