Catch Me

Ch. 1

Coraly's pov

When life is utter shit you find ways to cope. You either find good and healthy ways to cope or the not so good and unhealthy ways to cope. When you have an older sister who you saw cope unhealthily, you either draw inspiration or decide to not partake in the same activities. The choice is up to you and only you.

Here I am dealing with an incredible amount of pain trying so desperately to not let the blade in my palm slice the skin of my forearms. Not that I really have to restrain, no one cares if I do this. It's all for "attention" not because I have a real problem with my mental health or anything. But I want to prove to myself that I'm strong enough not to, but I know I'm about to cave. I'm not strong enough to not do this.

Again, not that it matters if I do this anyway. I'm "faking it" for attention according to my adopted father. I'm "confused on my emotions and feelings" according to my adopted mom. No one cares. No ones ever fucking cared. I'm adopted for a reason. My birth parents sure didn't fucking want me. Handed me to a social worker the absolute second I was born. Didn't hold me, didn't touch me, didn't say anything to me, probably didn't even look at me. The most they did was give a doctor a name for me. A shit name really. Core Uh Lee? That's what they came up with? What the fuck is my name even supposed to mean? Is it even a real name?

Whatever, back to my life. It's always been shit. I didn't get adopted until I was 6. It was foster care all the way up to that point. I was constantly moved from home to home. I learned to not grow attached to anyone early on because it hurts like a bitch to loose them. However most families made it easy to not grow attached to them. Rape, physical abuse, or mental abuse was common for me. Not that it matters to anyone. I was "lying" about it all. Or at least I was until I had to get stitches in my vagina because something tore.

At the age of 5 I was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Basically a long word meaning I don't like attention, guidance, affection, or love. It angers or upsets me. I want to be left alone, I want to be closed off, I want to remain isolated from the world. It has no cure and as far as I can tell, it still exists 9 years later. I didn't matter enough to be anyone focus early on and it fucked me up basically. You need eye contact, attention, love, and someone to care for you. I didn't even have that as a baby. I was left to cry myself to sleep. My social worker said the neighbors of that foster family called her when I was left in a heated car. That should tell you how much I matter to people.

Who knows, maybe the heat of the car caused damage to my brain. Maybe thats the reason I'm so fucked up now. I did have a heat stroke in my social workers arms. My brain had to have been damaged to some degree right?

The present doesn't fix the past. The past fucked me up in many ways. I guess that's the real issue. Sure life's fine now or whatever, but the past still isn't. And the past is what I find myself reflecting on often. I never seem to stop.

I stare at the metal in my hand as my eyes water. The desire to keep my self harm clean days fading as each second passes. The desire to create the distraction of pain, becoming stronger.

"It doesn't matter, nothing matters. Do what you want Cora, who cares? No one. No one does. This won't effect anyone but you anyway, so why worry? No one else worries for you. It's just cuts. It's not a big deal. You get cuts all the time accidentally, so why does it matter if it's on purpose? It doesn't." I remind myself.

Just like that, all self control is lost. The first swipe causes a trigger of nonstop cutting and it's not until my forearms are both looking as if they've got through a paper shredder when the blade falls out of my hands. My heart calms down. My anxiety fades. The desire to continue vanishes.

It baffles me how oblivious my adopted parents are. You'd think after one daughter who's gone down the wrong path, they'd open their eyes and make sure their two youngest don't. But nope. Here I am with bloodied forearms and have several bottles of pills and NyQuil in my room. I've attempted twice and not a single soul knows. But they don't care.

Going to my first statement made, I guess you could say I drew a lot of inspiration from Demi. I sure as hell didn't know how to numb my pain before her. I didn't even know created more pain helps distract from the real pain. But I guess you could say I learned from the best. I've found ways to cope because of her. So I admit, I've decided to cope in not the best of ways. But no one stops me, or cares to stop me, so it's ok. Because if I ever go to far, no one will care. No ones ever cared. I've been alone since day one, I wouldn't care if I died. I don't have anyone I'd miss. No one would miss me.

"Is Madison here?" I hear Demi's voice question.

"I saw her earlier today, but no she's not in the dressing room. Just Coraly. Your parents went to pick up lunch I believe. Dallas won't be here until tomorrow." I hear Demi's assistant say.

I sit frozen on the floor of the dressing room. Unable to move, not really caring to move. Normally I'd freak out on the thought of Demi. But I'm calm today. The sight of blood flowing down my arms quickly before slowly down my hands and trickling onto the carpet of the dressing room, strangely, just helps to numb my emotions.

"Oh." Demi says uninterested with the news.

Demi never did like me. In fact first day she met me, she shoved me down a flight of stairs. Ended up with a broken arm form that, but due to my fear, that broken arm actually wasn't found out about until 5 weeks after I fell down those stairs. I didn't say a word. And even when the break was discovered, I refused to admit the truth. Demi sitting in the hospital room didn't have an ounce of regret. Don't believe she does even now.

"Madison I believe may be just walking around the arena." I hear her assistant say again.

"Well I'm going to look for Mads." Demi says.

I lift my head and see a bottle of DayQuil sitting on Demi's makeup table. I get up and let the sleeves of my jacket fall as I walk to the bottle.

"Hello old friend. I need you much more than she does. A full brand new bottle, it's my lucky day." I say as I put the bottle between my jeans as hip. The oversized jacket hiding it perfectly.

Also on the table is a bottle of Tylenol and I go ahead and snatch that as well. I then walk to the snack table and grab a bottle of water and exit out of the room.

Sneaking out of arenas has always been my thing. I've become really good at it, especially when I'm determined to be anywhere but.

It's not long before the exit door is reached and I just begin to wonder off. Where in going? I don't know. But a little fresh air and isolation can't hurt me can it? No, no it can't.

So I walk. I walk a while. A very long while. All sense of direction is lost and all I know is I'm in a heavily wooded area beside a high way. Not that it matters. Less stress on everyone, they won't be worried. I've taken care of a regret they've had for a while, my adoption. I highly doubt they'll bother to file me missing. They don't care. It's all an act. For attention. I'm ok.

I sit down beside the tree and set the Tylenol beside it along with the DayQuil. The water I untwist the cap to and look between the two trying to figure this out. I've already tried suicide by NyQuil, Tylenol I haven't. I feel like the DayQuil won't do anything so there's really no point in it. So I instead pick up the Tylenol and swallow the pills by a hand full.

No one cares. It's all an act for attention. I'm faking it. I'm fine, just attention seeking. It doesn't matter. They won't care.

When they Tylenol's swallowed I walk further into the woods and stare at a rope.

This has to be a sign right? A rope in the woods beside a tree? I believe so. It's a sign. To do it. Really do it.

"Goodbye earth. I never did like you much. You never provided me with much. Only loneliness which never did feel good. So universe, let this be the end of my misery. Please don't let me somehow make it through this. I don't want to. Take a hint." I say as I construct a noose.

I hope this is the end. I wish nothing more for it to be.