indecisive (on hold)

1.

(287 days before)

I sit on my bed, crossed-legged, scrolling through tumblr reading one of my favorite poems of all time.

"who are you,

really?"  It read.

"you are not a name

or a height, or a weight

or a gender

you are not an age

and you are not where you

are from

you are your favorite books

and the songs stuck in your head

you are your thoughts

and what you eat for breakfast

on Saturday mornings

you are a thousand things

but everyone chooses

to see the million things

you are not

you are not

where you are from

you are

where you're going

and I'd like

to go there

too"

-m.k.

That poem is perfect to me. I love the way it represents how I feel. The books you read and the songs you listen to truly describe you as a person. I feel like the habits you have and the thoughts that run through your mind were what made you, you. It's the little things that a person should realize about you, if they truly want to know you.

I'm so gay. But, that poem truly made me feel happy because that's exactly what I felt.

However, I didn't have someone to follow. "I'd like to go there, too." I had never really had someone to want to follow. To want to be with. To love. I was always alone but, I was okay with that. I liked the loneliness. It was comforting. I could be myself and not really worry about anything or anyone. I didn't have to please anyone. Not anymore.

"Only sometimes you like to be alone". My conscious reminds me.

"Shut up." I say aloud.

I wasn't embarrassed of talking to myself. No one was ever around to hear. I sigh and get up from my bed.

"I need a shower." I huff.

I grab my phone and my towel and head to the bathroom. The bathroom's across the hall from my bedroom. I open the door and lock it behind me. No one was here except me and locking the door didn't make me feel any safer, but it was a must.

"You have nothing to be afraid of." The little voice chimes. But that's thing. She is wrong. I had everything to be afraid of. He is still out there. I will never be safe and there's nothing I can do about it. I set my towel on the closed toilet seat, my phone on the counter and looked into the mirror. I had never really been happy with the way I had looked. Ever since middle school, which was so so so so long ago, everything had stuck out to me. Here I was, 18, technically, starting college in a month and still, I couldn't get over middle school. I undo my bun and remove my shirt and shorts. My big, curly hair falling to my belly button.

"Ew. Your hair, it's too big. Why don't you have slick, straight hair like everyone else?  Look at your hips, so wide. And your cheeks, so fat. Look at your belly roll. Why don't you have a flat stomach? Why do your thighs touch? Why don't you have a thigh gap like all the pretty girls?"

My eyes begin to water. The demons are back. The demons inside my head, constantly reminding me. I'd never be beautiful.

I let a tear roll down my face before starting the water. I undo my bra and strip off my underwear. I return to the mirror, my worst enemy, next to the voices in my head.

"Why are your boobs so big? Well, I guess it's because you're fat. You're so disgusting. You know that right? So ugly. So worthless. Trash. Garbage. That's why he hurt you. You deserved everything he put you through. You deserved it. I mean look at you.That's why you've been alone so long, and you know, you always will be."

I get into the shower and sit down, hugging my knees to my chest. Tears are streaming down my face. My vision is tinted a pale blue. But, I don't really care. I am too busy drowning in my own sadness.

"Why can't you go away?" I cry.

"Because, my darling, I'm here to tell the truth."

"I don't want the truth," I sob. "Leave me alone, please?"

"Ha. Like I care. You are repulsive. No one has ever loved you. And no one ever will. You are going to be alone for the rest of eternity. You. Are. Nothing."

"I know," I whisper. My tears are coming so fast. The words echoing in my head. I rock back and forth. I scream, letting all the pain out. My sobs are uncontrollable. My yells becoming more frequent as I let all the years of hurt out. I have episodes like this often. My conscious never quit. Constantly making my life a living Hell.

"This is unbearable." I look to my wrist. "Do. Not. Heal." I cry through gritted teeth.

I grab the blade beside my shampoo. I stare at it horrifically. I hate doing this, but it's the only way I know to deal with the pain. Ever since seventh grade, when I was first introduced to self harm, so many years ago, this is what I did when things became too much. I hate it because it reminds me of how weak I am. I don't want to be weak,  I want to be strong. But, I don't have any strength in myself to stop.

I slide the blade across my left wrist. My blood immediately begins to flow.

"Do. Not. Heal."

"Beautiful. Do it again," The voice encourages.

"You deserve this," I tell myself. "All of this."

I slide the blade across my wrist six more times, until I am pleased with myself. My vision is tinted dark, like trying to see at night. I can't feel anything. I grip the edge of the bathtub. Frost shoots from hand, covering the rim. I remove my hand, holding it to my chest. I lay my head against the shower wall and watch the scarlet liquid ooze from my arm, turning the bath water pink.

Author's note: If anyone ever reads this story, please understand that I do not support self harm. I think there are other ways to deal with pain. However, I do understand why many do it. I understand that many have unbearable pain, so they inflict pain on themselves. I do understand. I just think you should talk to someone about it first. I know you will probably think, "she says she will always be there, but she will leave." True. I cannot promise to always be there to help, but I can try. Sometimes it's better to talk to a complete stranger and just vent. And that's what I am here for. (: