What She Hides Behind The Mask

Chapter 1

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

•SELF HARM

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I, Lola Stratford, am officially broken. I feel like my heart is withering away. My heat has been beaten to a pulp by everyone in my life. Everyone except my parents. All my friends hate me with a burning passion. They constantly insult me about what I wear or what I do. They take any opportunity to put me down.

Even though they can't see it, every time they say something that hurts me, my heart cracks. Until now, if it cracked one more time, it would shatter into billions of pieces. I guess that shows how much I've been through. But since my body won't let my heart crumble, it decides to stomp on it and twist its heel right into its core, bruising and scaring it each and every time.

Oh but if you thought that was the end of it, you were awfully wrong. Not only do my friends do this to me, but I also can't escape from their tight clutches, don't ask why. Because of everything that's happened in the 17 long and agonizing years of my life, I've gained trust issues. And I promised myself to not let my guard down for anyone, no matter how nice they seem. I've made that mistake too many times before. So I gave up trying to converse with others. I'll never be able to get anywhere good anyway. You see, there's no life on earth worse than mine. And if you thought you were worse, look at me now.

I lay there on my bed, crying my eyes out. This, of course, is a daily event in my life. My sobs echo throughout my room in a rapid pattern. If you've ever cried for hours, you know how hard it is to breathe. If you haven't, it feels like I'm suffocating, I just can't seem to get enough oxygen into my lungs to concentrate on what's happening around me.

To me, my room is my safe zone. It's the only place I can cry and go unnoticed. It's the only place I can allow myself to let out all of my bottled up emotions seep out of me as I weep. If you haven't noticed yet, I'm in a not-so-mild state of depression, I have been throughout almost my entire life.

As I cry, I come to realize that the more I do this, each and every day, the more pain comes with it. So, I drag myself out of my bed slowly. I feel my legs wobble underneath me since I hadn't moved from my bed for the past three hours or so. I make my way to my bathroom, inching the door open.

I place my hand down on the sink counter feeling the cold from the surface shift onto my palm, I look in the mirror, only to see the ugly monster staring right back at me. That monster is me. My short dirty blonde hair is disheveled, bits of it sticking up in multiple directions. My eyes are red and puffy, my blue-green irises reflect a look of pain and distress as they're glazed over with an ocean of newly formed tears. My nose is pink and stuffy, my small sniffles breaking the silence. My cheeks are also pink and slightly swollen, stained with dry tears, but new warm ones glide down beside the old ones leaving a wet trail behind. My lips are slightly chapped and trembling, occasionally emitting soft sobs as I stare at the awful sight before me.

I tear my eyes away from the ugly mirror and lower them to a drawer in the sink. I slowly pry it open, shuffling through the clutter until my finger touches something cold. It's exactly what I was looking for. I pull out the tiny piece of metal and hold it against the light. The small razor blade shines into my eye. I bring my arm towards me, placing the sharp edge against the skin of my upper arm. I carefully graze it across watching at a wound opens up, allowing a crimson red fluid to seep out of it and run down the side of my arm, dancing around, blending into each other to make a larger droplet, then once reaching my fingertips, it drips down onto the tiled floor.

I turn the tap on and wash the blood off the metal and turning the tap off, then carefully putting it back into the drawer, covering it with the clutter, and closing it. I walk over to the shower, switching it on. I pull my clothes off and once the water's hot warm enough, I step in and let it engulf me entirely. I feel my fresh wound sting, and it is quite pleasant. Then and there I notice, physical pain hurts less than mental pain.

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Hiya!

Thanks for checking out my book! It really means a lot. Sorry that the first chapter is pretty depressing, it will get better though, I promise. Just so you know, I'm writing this book with a few real experiences, for the bullying, but everything else is based on my knowledge and imagination. I hope you enjoy my book! Oh and don't forget to vote and comment!!

Bye~Bye!

-BunBun