She walks silently through the halls, people pushing and shoving to get to the next step while she walks slowly, dreading the thought that she has to go on another day.
I can't do this, she thought. Why won't you let me go?
The demons claw away at her eyes, making her vision look as if shes looking through shattered glass. Better yet; a shattered mirror.
Mirrors. She hated mirrors. They reminded her of who she was. A filthy, messed up child who no one loves.
Her hair looks like string. She procrastinates her showers because it makes her think of water. She keeps her nails long because its easier to sneak drugs into places under them. Especially the powdery kinds like cocaine... She often picks up a chunk of a pill and crushes it with a lighter in her desk, dips her nail in it and pretends to wipe her nose.
This was her sanity; this was her life.
YOU ARE READING
The Dead Her.
Short StoryDepression, Anxiety, ADD, Suicidal Ideation, and Abuse all lead to one thing: An unhealthy, and quite potentially deadly living style. *MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING* *COMPLETED* *WATTTYS2017*
