painting the past

Chapter 1

I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
what's wrong with me? Why did it have to be me?
I sighed and closed my eyes, wanting to go to sleep forever.
"Isabella!" My dad yelled
"What?"
No answer.
I sighed and got up from my bed and I saw my dad standing in the kitchen, arms crossed. "I thought I told you to do these dishes"
"I'm sorry, I forgot." I rolled my eyes and walked to the sink.
"Don't get an attitude with me." He said
"I don't have an attitude" I said as I turned on the water.
"Bullshit. Get those dishes done." He walked away. I rolled my eyes once again and continued doing the dishes.
——————-
"𝙄𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖! 𝘼𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙖'𝙨 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧!" 𝙈𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙢 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮.
"𝙊𝙠𝙖𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖! 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚!" 𝙄 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙧.
"𝙃𝙚𝙮 𝙄𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖!"
"𝙃𝙚𝙮 𝘼𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙖!" 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙, 𝙖 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚.
"𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙖𝙨?"
"𝙄'𝙢 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮" 𝙞 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙, 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚.
"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙙" 𝘼𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙖 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙙.
"𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙮" 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙, 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨
"𝙔𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙙𝙤"
"𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧?" 𝙄 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙙, 𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚.
"𝙄 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚"
——————
I was dragged out of the flashback when a plate shattered on the kitchen floor.
"What the hell was that?" My dad yelled from in the living room
"It was nothing!" I said as I tried to get up all of the pieces before my dad saw it
I was too late.
"Izzy. Calm down. I got it." He said, walking over to get the broom "Just go to bed." I nodded and went to go get dressed for bed.
The minute my head hit the pillow I was out.

-the next morning-

I woke up to my shitty alarm going off, reminding me I have to go to Hell.
I lazily got up and out of my bed, grabbing some clothes to change into.
I got dressed and stared at myself in the mirror.
Why did I have to be born with this personality? I literally push everyone away when they're just trying to help.
Maybe that's why I'm so alone.
I wiped my face and went to wake up my stepsister, Brooklyn.
When we got to school I had to go to my 1st hour, art, and do some art project. I'm not complaining, I absolutely love art, I'm just tired of everything and everyone. I can't seem to get "happy"
I just feel numb.
But that's what I get, right?
It's my punishment for everything I've ever done.
I lost two of my best friends this year.
Alisha and Olivia.
I met Alisha in first grade when she first moved into town. I remember she didn't want anything to do with the school and the people until I introduced myself and told her it would all be okay. I was her first friend in the trailer park and at school. It felt good to help someone. Ever since then we've been best friends. Connected at the hip. No matter how hard anyone tried, no one could break us apart.
I was obviously wrong.
I lost her October of our 9th grade year to some girl we invited to our hayride tradition. I regret it. I wish Lily would've came Instead. It would've turned out so much differently. Who would've known one night would change everything?
.
I've been friends with Olivia for 10 years now. She was my kindergarten best friend. We didn't get real close until 4th grade and then we drifted apart until about 8th grade. We were close, but not as close as Alisha and I.
Once Alisha left, it was Lily, Olivia, and I. Olivia and I grew closer and then one day I snapped and pushed her away too.
I now know to just bury my feelings inside of me when I'm out of the house. Then people won't ask me what's wrong and then I won't push them away.
.
When I pushed Olivia away it was just Lily and I. We had two other friends, but it wasn't the same as having Alisha and Olivia.
I don't think it will ever be the same.
.
The day went by pretty quick and the time was now 8:21 p.m.
I walked into my bathroom and sat on the counter. I grabbed the pills out of my mirror and just stared at the container for a little bit.
I wonder if people would even care? If people would even visit me?
I know my mom and siblings would. My dad too I guess.
So I didn't take enough to kill myself.
Just enough to cause pain and have me pass out.
I've been doing that for a while now. Nobody really knows.
I tell people I'll stop and trick them into thinking I'm fine when I'm not. I've become a fucking pro at lying.
I got dressed for bed and sat down, tracing the scars on my thigh, stomach, sides, shoulders, etc. anywhere that was hidden. I went over about 100+ scars.
I really am a fucked up bitch.
It's not because I'm "selfish" or whatever. I just want to focus on physical pain rather than emotional pain. Sometimes I do it because I feel so numb that it's the only way I can actually feel something.

I don't expect many people to know what I'm going through. I wouldn't want people to know how it feels to lose everyone you care about and then hate yourself as a result.
It's the worst feeling.
Feeling like you're not good enough for anyone anymore.

What am I kidding?
I never have been.