This is not a fairytale-Sandersides

Chapter 20

Cutting has never been of any interest to me.

I do understand how one can find the sensation of wounding themselves pleasant, peaceful even. I can understand how it might make them feel, make them feel anything at all.
I would also understand the enormous guilt one could feel as they woke up in the morning, their arms or thighs burning red and slightly swollen.

I do understand people can be broken enough to be able to physically hurt themselves.

I had found a more creative, yet less destructive way through.

I had noticed that, if I spend extended periods of time away from my room it would get 'hungry'
If no one had entered it for a few days the negativity would build up, stack on top of itself. The first person to enter it again would be half dead if they did not know how to handle an attack.

So I went there every week.
But just as with alcoholism, just as with gambling and just as with cutting,
it becomes an addiction.

So while everyone was sleeping I went to the room, first every week but soon it had become a daily task.
The room would feast upon my fears and worries and everything that had been swirling through my head for the day.

I found myself wishing this day would end just so I could finally release all of the things I had been hiding, to finally be able to feel true pain again.

And as I said before, this pain was more advanced then harming yourself physically. It was in such an incredibly mental kind of way that one could feel the pain throughout the day. And even if I would be able to stop my destroyed mindset to go to the room that night, it would still be longing for it. Like an addict longs for the glass or the cigaret.

I am not telling you that it's okay to harm yourself, physically or mentally. 
Now, looking back at these moments in my life I realize how they have damaged me for more than just that day, more then just those few months I had kept this addiction secret.
It would and will to this day always haunt me.
The questions about why I had these mental scars would never stop.

Logan would never look me directly in the eyes. He would always look towards a specific point on my forehead, near my temple as if I had a burn mark he could not take his eyes of.

Roman would never look at me without a spark of guilt flickering inside his eyes, his smile always dropping the slightest bit whenever he looked at me.

Patton would never treat me the same way he had always done. He would always be just a tad bit too caring or a tad bit too careful whenever he saw me leaving the common room alone, his eyes following me whenever I walked past him in the hallway as if he was afraid I would go into that door again.

No, it had not been worth it.
The pain I had felt in that period of my life might have been numbed for the moment, but it would make the rest of my existence so much more difficult, the guilt always rushing through my veins as I saw how Thomas found his soulmate, how said soulmate got to know him and how the inevitable question would come up. "What are those marks on your arms?"

The guilt rushing through me like boiling water as I saw his expression drop, as I heard his stuttering as he tried to explain what had happened. 

I watched as they adopted a dog. The pup growing and him always carefully laying his head into Thomas' arms as if he could feel the hurt our host had felt as he had left those marks on his skin.
I watched as the dog liked his arms, careful and gentle he went over every pale line that was hidden behind a colourful tattoo.

No, it had not been worth it.
But there I was, not being able to process how me destroying myself would affect Thomas and not paying attention to the sharp stings I would get in my arms late at night, thinking it was just a side effect from going into the room or the tugging feeling in my stomach as if I was being summoned by a huge amount of pain our host was having.

It had not been worth it.