And she finally gave up, dropped the fake smile.
tears ran down her sun-kissed cheeks as she whispered to herself "I cant do this anymore."
She was tired and numb.
Tired of trying.
Tired of no one caring.
Tired of acting like its all okay.
She broke.
So there she sat in her tub, in the dark, at 3am.
She felt like she was drowing but no one had noticed. She felt like she was caged in her own mind, prisoner of her demons. All she could do was cry.
And for the fist time in her life she picked up a blade wondering if it could stop her inner suffering. If the pain of the sharp blade ripping her skin could distract her from the pain she felt within.
Ans she started. She drew lines on her arms with the sharp metal, making red liquid gush out.
She winced and shut her eyes as it was painful. But it was nothing compared to her emotional pain.
Cutting made her feel alive. It would block out her inner pain for a few minutes, and she liked that.
Soon enough, it had became a drug to her. It had became her escape from her bitter reality.
