"What is wrong with you." "You're a fucking slut." "Do everyone a favor and kill yourself." "Nobody likes you." "You're a failure." I blocked the number and put the phone down again. The words raced acrossed my scarred mind as I layed down in to the soft velvety smooth covers of the bed. This had happened before but this time, it was different. This time I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel mad. I didn't have any remorse. I never even thought about who it might be. I just blocked the number and left it. I was emotionless and dry. I didn't care. Of course, I kept thinking about it and all of the sudden my wrist started to release an excruciating pain. I grasped my hand, feeling the rough textures of the scars on the smooth pale skin. I let out a small yelp and winced. I tried my best not to cry. The last thing I needed was for my parents to wake up and see their depressed daughter clinging onto her scarred wrist. I layed my head back down on the still damp pillow until the pain went away. I continued thinkinm about the text until I thought, "where did all the suffering and pain start." I tried not to think about this but the silence of the night took over and I couldn't help it. Then, it clicked... Jason Price.
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Midnight Thoughts
Ngẫu nhiênThe mind is like a jail cell, keeping away the bad thoughts. Although sometimes these thoughts can escape and wreak havoc and depending on how long their sentence is, ruin your mental state.
