Silent.

part 1

Author's Note (will be referred to as A/N in the future):

This chapter will contain talks of depression, self-harm, and sexual abuse. If you are NOT comfortable with that, PLEASE skip this chapter. I will put warnings on all of the chapters that will need it.

Thank you - chey.

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~journal entry- one

i feel trapped. trapped inside of my head. 

inside of a body, i don't want to be in. 

a body that holds battle wounds.

self-made battle wounds.

my body has been my canvas for the past two years.

my arms covered in nothing but painful art pieces.

the permanence of my most personal art projects.

frowned upon by society.

"what a shame."

"what a waste of a perfect body."~

i sign, pausing the movement of my pencil in the process.

this seems stupid. journaling does nothing to help with the pain.

the pain never goes away, you just get used to it.

a painful, scratchy lump in my throat forms.

my eyes start to sting, filling with tears.

stop. you can't be this weak.

i drop my pencil and bring the backs of my hands to wipe my eyes.

toughen up aspen.

 i huff loudly, before picking up my pencil once again, and returning back to writing.

~i'm trapped between heaven, and hell. 

i don't know which one sounds better, at this point in my life.

i don't know what i did to get to this point.

i don't know where i went wrong.

where i became less than enough.

was is when he assaulted me ?

when he took everything away from me ?

i don't know..

i'm tired. so tired. 

when will i get better..? if that's even possible. 

i need to be numb. 

please let me be numb...

journal entry one- closed~

a shaky breath leaves my lips as i drop my pen between the pages of my notebook, and close it with a small force.

why does this make it feel worse ?

i shake my head in frustration, and let out a sign.

looking around, i notice it's gotten dark, the sun no longer peaking through the cracks in my blinds.

getting up out of my desk chair, i push it in slowly and grab my notebook.

i always hide it under my mattress, as i know no one will find it there.

i need to relax. to blow off some steam.

going to my bathroom quickly, i close the door and lock it.

i've always been one to hide everything. 

you never know who you can trust.

walking over towards my mirror, i catch a glimpse of my reflection.

my skin is pale, my eyes are dull, and the bags under them make me look ten years older than i actually am.

i look horrible. no wonder no one wants to look at me for more than two seconds.

i shake my head and open the mirror medicine cabinet. 

taking out my floss container, i open it to reveal my new shiny razor blades. it's a perfect hiding spot.

i take one out, and put my container on the counter, before walking to stand in front of my sink.

you've done this a million times. it couldn't possibly hurt you to do it again, can it.

with the blade now between my index finger and my thumb, my grip tight, i bring it down to my exposed wrist.

the skin is already covered in scattered pink and white lines.

carefully but forcefully, i drag the blade across my skin, feeling a small stinging sensation. 

blood starts to trickle down my wrist in a tiny stream, as i continue to cut at my skin.

it's the only thing that keeps me sane.. keeps me... from ending everything forever.

after cleaning off my blade, and bandaging up my wrist, i exit my bathroom.

this was an almost daily thing for me. 

last night it was my thigh, tonight it was my wrist. 

it just makes sense to scar my whole body, and not just one area right ?

laying down in my bed, i turn off my bedside lamp and look up at the ceiling.

god, if you exist. why did you have to make me feel this way.. 

what did I do to deserve this...

a single tear falls down my face and onto my pillow.

i close my eyes, and let complete darkness consume me.

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hello.

i know this story is starting off very dark, but i promise it'll get better and be less dark.

if you read this whole thing, PLEASE know that i DO NOT condone or recommend self-harming. there are so many other positive ways that you can get help. please do not self-harm as an outlet.

if you're going through anything similar to this. i'm sorry. and it does get better. 

i used to self-harm and degrade myself so much, and decided just a year or so ago, that it was not helping and never would. you are not alone <3

much love- chey. 

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written: february 2020

published: 18 march, 2021

807 words*