Bruised and Scarred [short story]

Part One: Dying

"they say depression is like drowning. well, they're wrong."

Everyday, I tell myself to breathe. Inhale, exhale, bit by bit, painful step by painful step. Each breath is a laboured intake, and my mind struggles, conflicted, between survival instincts and the desperate want to die.

I keep my head bowed, staring at the floor as I walk, lost in the current of students, towards the classroom. The monotonous stomp of pristine white school shoes on the tiled floor, the hushed whispers of students gossiping as they walk down the corridors in a neat single file, are so repetitive. The distance from the hall to my classroom is so short; yet, it seems to stretch for miles.

Or maybe that's just me.

As my teacher drones on about some topic that I've already learnt and could care less about, I fight the ever-growing urge to deface my arms, scrawl the truth over my fat, useless flesh. Soon, I succumb.

I look around, noting without surprise that no one is watching. Not the teacher, not my 'friends', no, not even the guy sitting right next to me. They've never cared, so why should they now?

I pick up my mechanical pencil, pressing down on the top and pushing out the sharpened tip of the lead. Perfect. I'm not dumb enough to use a pair of scissors or even a razor, oh no; those leave scars that would be noticed easily. Pencils are perfect- they dish out the hurt, but the marks fade in a day, leaving a new canvas for me to work on.

I press the tip of the pencil forcefully into my skin, relishing the sharp, stinging pain that courses through my body. I drag the pencil across my skin, forming the words that I know to be true. Red marks blossom across my skin; a pretty sight for me as they spell out letters. Fat. Hated. Die. Useless.

Once I'm done, I put my pencil down, refocusing on the lesson. My teacher has scribbled letters and numbers across the board, an incoherent jumble of speed concepts that could easily be explained in a minute.

I look down again, examining my fingers for anything I can pick on. Most of the skin is torn, the nails jagged, yet- I can't find anything to keep me occupied.

With nothing for me to do, nothing else for me to maul, I stare blankly at the whiteboard, nodding occasionally in pretence that I'm paying attention. Slowly, I feel myself drifting off into my personal nightmare.

I can still remember their words clear as day, and their actions, the actions that slice and gnaw at my heart. Saying that I get on their nerves. Ditching me to flirt with boys while I'm left alone with my stalker. Hardly ever talking to me, then immediately brightening up and ignoring me once someone more fun, more entertaining comes along. Whispering behind my back.

It hurts, you know. It hurts oh-so-much when people treat me like this. I'm only human. I'm not a machine, I'm not a toy. They resent me when I ignore them on accident, calling me an unloyal friend. But have they ever stopped to consider what they've done to me?

"Hey, stop daydreaming," a cheerful voice breaks my bitter thoughts. It's my desk partner. "We're supposed to do the first question of the speed worksheet." I nod, hastily turning my wrist facedown and plastering a bright smile on my face. That's what I'm best at doing, after all. Faking and creating a whole new persona. Someone easygoing. Cheerful. Bubbly. They see me laugh, they see me smile, they see me look all happy and sane.

Truth is, I'm the type of cliche that's seen everywhere. The one who fakes a smile, when in reality she's dying inside.

I hate myself for it. 

"Thanks," I mumble. He grins at me cheerfully once more, before turning back to his work. It's a simple question, and I'm done in a minute.

"The answer's ten minutes, right?" He asks me, leaning over and checking my answers. I nod in affirmation, and he smiles again. I envy him, I envy how he's able to smile so easily. He's a sports star, a math whiz and one of the more popular people in our class. Of course he wouldn't be troubled.

I glance over at my former crush, hoping that he might be looking over at me out of worry. My texts to him are usually bubbly, but then again, I'm always the one texting him, always the one making the first move. He's always been a attentive sort of person.

However, as I had known would've happened, he's looking at his crush with dreamy eyes. I close my eyes for a second, letting the hurt and rejection wash over me, beating against me like a relentless, merciless tide.

That day, as I walk to the bus stop, I smile bitterly as I glance down at the red marks on my wrist. Before anyone can notice, I pull the sleeve of my blue jacket over my wrist, ducking into the warmth and security of the fabric.

If anyone had ever bothered to ask, they would've known why I have a wall up. A wall built brick by brick, lie after lie, heartbreak after heartbreak. They would see my scars, my bruises, and they would see that I'm still bleeding.

Nobody ever asks.

A/N

I'm typing this on my phone at night, so excuse any typos. My friend Victoria refuses to accept my birthday present to her unless I update Terrible Things, but I don't have access to my computer long enough for me to update until Sunday. So I thought I'd write this short story for her instead.

Depression is a serious thing. It can't be shaken off in just a second, with some counselling words and sympathy. Depression takes root in you, spreading out in your body until you don't know that what you're doing is harmful to yourself. Your demons come to life, and you constantly question yourself, finding flaw after flaw, imperfection after imperfection in you.

I just want all of you to know that, no matter what, I'll be a DM or a comment away. Stay strong.

Also, please, please, don't mock a depressed person. Don't force anything on him or her either. Just be there to support them. They'll be grateful for every kind word you supply, even if they seen sceptical at first. If they aren't getting any better after a few days, do not push them or get irritated with them. Depression isn't just something you can cure with an 'abracadabra'. You need to be patient.

Well, that's all I have to say on this. I might continue this depending on what you guys want. Please remember to vote and comment! Love you all!