Chevrons//Cover made by the hella talented @cresselity

Chapter Two: Again

I can't help it, I really can't. I keep trying to be clean, but my skin itches for the pain of a silver blade, a prick of a needle, the burn of a cigarette. My body desires another drink, another snort. I try and try, but I just can't. I put on a fake smile, a new face. I sit with my friends at lunch, not even paying attention to them. I ignore my food; try to be normal. But will I ever be normal? Probably not.

My friends, they are perfectly fine. They have no idea what pain I'm in. How horrible my life is. When I get home, I find a drunk, passed out father, and I haven't seen my sister in a few days. But they don't know that. They have no idea. They ask if she's okay, and I pretend I don't hear. They ask if I'm okay, I walk away. I'm just trying to find a reason, any reason, to live. To not die. But is there any real reason if we all die eventually? Maybe mine will just be sooner than say, my sister's. Maybe I should do everyone a favour. Maybe, just maybe, I should.

When in class, I don't pay attention. I gave up on my grades. The school tries to contact my dad, but to no avail; he never answers. He stopped answering two (2) years ago.

When at home, I'm the one holding the household together. I work part time at the local Walmart, the only job I could get. I get home, make dinner, and wish we could be a normal family. Just wishful thinking, I suppose. My skin, it aches for the blade. If I relent, I make it in a certain shape. My mother's favourite shape. The chevron. I carve it into my arm as a reminder that she would hate to see us like this, in an attempt to stop. But to no avail. When does it stop? When does it get better?

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Dark chapter. Literally had to consult a bunch of my depressed friends. This book is NOT glorifying suicide, self harm, or depression!