Even though I know no one is reading this, I just have to put this somewhere my family won't find it.
I was carved into the person I am today with the splinters from every broken door. Every sudden noise sets my heart racing. The jiggling door handles make me drop whatever I'm doing and run to my room. These quirks are not cute or attractive.
Every scar on my hands has a story to tell. "Oh, they're just from getting scratched on corners," I lied. "It was an accident." No. Self-harm has been engraved into my soul. Scratching and clawing at my skin whenever I get in trouble.
I've got nothing to lose and even my life isn't my own. It will never be my own. I'm just a puppet on a string. Dangling, dancing, always having to keep moving. Awkward and reserved. Quiet introvert. Temperamental. Depressed.
I become more careless with how I treat myself. Maybe if I let myself slip a little bit, I won't have to apologize for being broken. They won't consider me weak if I leave while screaming for help.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Coast
Short StoryI'm not sure what to say here. People go through tough times and all they need to be is heard. ?This book will also include short stories (notice the plural on that story). ?the motivation for myself and anyone who reads it. ?health and cussing. I...
