Alone No More {slow updates}

Chapter 1 ~ Tired

She didn't regret it.

Every cut was relief. An Escape. A distraction. That was what she needed. A distraction for her overly imaginative mind.

The mind is a powerful thing.

It can drive you to do things you would never believe you would do. But then you do. For Brandalynn never thought she would cut. She never thought she would harm herself. She never thought it could happen to her, but yet here she was, with scars decorating her arms from the elbow down to her tiny wrist.

What drove her to do such a thing? Everything. Everything seemed to go wrong just for her.

 Her parents, people who you were supposed to look up to, people who were supposed to love you, instead treated her like some kind of disease. Her mother stayed as far away as possible from Brandalynn. Her father busied himself with work, not stopping to care for anything but his business and money. They never once asked, "How was your day?" or "How are you?" No. All they cared for was that she was getting an education, so she could leave their mansion when she turned 18.

And she was planning on it.

For her parents weren't there when the bullies came. No one was there. So, a little 7 year old was forced to do things no child should do. She saw what no child should see. She heard what no child should hear. A little girl got tossed around like a rag doll. Everyone who seemed close to her, turned on her. So since a young age, Brandalynn shut everyone out.

But that's just a few reasons why she hurts herself.

There is more of course.

You see, Brandalynn couldn't entirely shut people out. She was born with an open heart. One that was trusting, and honest, and willing to give away all she had for those whom she loved.

But these kind things, were used against her in cruel ways.

If you knew, you could manipulate the poor girl. For she would help you out a dire situation. She would open up to you. She would trust you. But you could misuse her trust, and leave her broken.

And she was broken.

So she did what a toy-repairer would do to a broken doll, she gave herself a new face.

She masked her guilt, her grief, her sorrow, her emotions, and her life. She would hide in her own body. Hide from everyone. No one truly saw what lay behind her eyes: her golden brown, all seeing eyes.

All people would see is her acting. Everything was an act. Her smile, the laughs at the smallest of things, her happiness, all of it was fake. They mistook her for a happy, rich, girl. But in fact, she was a depressed, hurt girl.

So everyday, the mask went on, and the pain burrowed beneath the surface, waiting to be let out. But only satisfied at night, when the mask would wear off, and she would fall asleep crying in the night.

Then the next day, she would again pretend to be okay, and hang out with her friends.

 Her "Friends," a rambunctious group of girls, hadn't known her for long. Just a year or two. Not Long enough. Not long enough to see the weariness behind her eyes, to see the lies in her words. But she was an honest girl, so her words were simply a twisted version of the truth.

How easy it was to twist words. To be asked, "Are you okay?" and reply with "I'm tired." That tired doesn't mean to be physically tired, but to be tired of everything else .

Tired of being sad. Tired of pretending. Tired of the evil thoughts. Tired of crying. Tired if being Alone. Tired of Waiting For Superman.

He isn't coming.

He must've found his Lois Lane, and I'm not her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So in go the ear buds, on comes the music, and away she goes, off to the torture they called "School."