A/N: Something depressing.
The thick black makeup lined her eyes as did the scars on her thighs and forearms. The metal music pounded through her brain as did the insults she was given on a daily basis.
As she crept into school on that cold Monday morning, her earphones in, music up to full volume, sleeves rolled down and hood up, the boy with the slit eye brow and vindictive brown eyes waltzed up to her. A sharp pain ran up her spine as she was pushed violently into the wall, his insults now echoing the ones floating threw her mind. A quick punch was delivered to her side before she picked up her bag and continued with her day, a day which consisted of the same thing happening over and over again in a constant loop. Lunch was yet another sad and lonely affair, the only form of acquaintance being the heavy metal bands she blasted into her ears day after day. The walk home was just as terrifying as a day in that hell hole of a school she was forced to attend, with her being hit and hurt every five minutes on her journey. Yet not a single tear escaped those deep black eyes. Deep black eyes that hid so many secrets. Her blade was her only comfort. Truthfully, she liked the pain other people caused her, it meant she had to cause her self considerably less pain to take away her fear for the day. Her blade was her only comfort and the punches people through her way might have caused her wanted pain but the physical, unwanted pain was hard to cure. The sharp edge ran swiftly across her body as the blood poured slowly. She's getting better the Therapist said. She doesn't need us the Therapist said. Relapsation was a worry high on her list 6 months ago but now, she was experiencing it. And in a crazy, satanic way, she loved it. Loved the way the blood ran down her wrists and loved the pain. Her hands trembled as she reached for her tablets. 9 she had taken once and nothing happened, maybe one more could end it all. The sound of taking tablets from the packet gave her endless pleasure and as she slipped the ten into her hand and threw the empty packet in the bin, a sudden emptiness. Nobody will ever love you. You're worthless. Swot. Nerd. Geek. Freak. Cutter. She swallowed them all and pulled out her old diary which she hadn't touched since she had stopped therapy. She wrote in small writing on a clean new page, "Dear Friend, I wish I could go somewhere dark and hide so that everyone would forget me. I took ten tablets and I want to end it all. Everything's worse so if this is the end, just know that I did not live a happy life. Yours, x."
The truth is, she had no "friend." She was told in therapy to write down her feelings, so she wrote to "friend" to make it seem to anyone who ever found her diary, that she wasn't a crazy, insane teenage girl when in reality that's what she was.
o Tuesday came along and she was still breathing. Meaning she had to spend another day in the hell hole and she had to spend another day living. Tuesday was just as hard as Monday except today, she had P.E. That meant changing in front of everyone and at least one more person who would notice the scars. Any normal person who cut would use an excuse like it was my cat or I was in a car accident but not her. She just let peoples imaginations go wild. She wouldn't tell them why they were there but more let them make their own presumptions. It was easier that way. The usual bullying came her way as she walked through the school with her earphones in, music up to full volume, sleeves rolled down and hood up as normal. That didn't mean she was invisible like she wished she was. She never spoke. Nobody knew,what her voice sounded like; she couldn't even answer the register. Of course there had been a time when she did but times change. People change too. When she was getting ready for P.E, everyone laughed. Everyone knew she was different, but just how different they weren't sure. Everyone then began talking about the scars. She remained oblivious to it all. However, the insults did have an effect on her, the words still stung like knives and the names still shattered a small piece of her already damaged heart. They pushed her in the mud and laughed evily at her, leaving her there. The urge she felt each day to end it all is undescribable but she knew she hated her life and she always would, no matter if she was dead or alive. Lunch this time was an escape. She always acrried an extra blade, for emergenices per say and now was one of those times. She didn't need to hide her pain or suffer in silence, she would always have "Friend" and she always have a blade to relieve the pain. When she was home after another day from helln she decided to write to "Friend." She layed the new balde at her side and she turned to a new page and wrote, "Dear Friend, I wish you knew how I felt and much of a sturggle it is. But then again you do know, you couldn't cope with the pain could you? I'm a broken grenade that will never explode. I'm worthlessand pointless in existence. I'm sorry for bothering you. Yours x" This time she decided to try 11 tablets. Another empty packet and another chance of ending it all. She sat, hugging her knees to her chest, leaning her back against the bed as she clutched the diary in her hands and gradually fell asleep.
She was not at school on Wednesday because on Wednesday morning, she had killed herself. She had taken a full box of tablets (36) and had hung herself from the light in the middle of her room. The last thing she did before she did it was write to "Friend." She had wrote, "Dear Friend, the voices have gotten worse. Everythings worse. The tablets didn't work so I'm going. This is now goodbye. Without you I wouldn't have got out of therapy but it wasn't your fault I came to this. I know nobody cared but I don't regret my descion. Thank you. Love Always, x." Nobody saw any of this. And then, the day she wasn't at school and every day from then, when they were told she'd moved school, they still didn't see. Because nobody cares about the girl with the thick black eyeliner. She killed herself, because nobody cared. The worst part is, when she was found dead, she was there, earphones in, sleeves rolled down, hood up and thick black makeup lining her eyes, and she still looked as innocent and content as the last day she was seen alive. But don't be desieved by the thick black eyeliner.
