Where Am I? (boyxboy)

Chapter Nine

I woke up on the floor, to my alarm and a trashed room. My favorites books ripped apart, pages slewed across the floor. My bureau was knocked over, the trinkets that had been homed on top of the wood littered the floor, now broken. My walls had new holes and my hand throbbed, so did my arms, and thighs. Though it was more of a stinging, I could clearly guess as to what had happened.

Sure enough I looked down to find deep open wounds running all the way up the inside of my forearms. I figured my thighs would show more of the damning cuts. Some still had blood pooled in them, the healing process not yet started. I surveyed my room more carefully. It honestly looked like a tornado had been through, or we had been robbed. Clothes were ripped apart, thrown all over the place. Dried blood was everywhere spattering over most of my room. My bookshelves couldn't hold my books any longer, considering that most of books had been massacred and the wooden shelves had been reduced to kindling for the fireplace.

 My black band tee was covered in blood, as were my red skinny jeans, that I guess I hadn't changed out of. My mattress had been thrown across the room and I had fresh bruises from who knows what, not including the ones left by Matt and the others. I groaned. I had really lost it last night hadn't I? Although I didn't remember right now, I'm sure flashes of it would appear through out the day, not the most comforting feeling knowing I could be sitting in the middle of history and suddenly be hit with a flashback of my rampage through my room.

I didn't have time to clean anything up or even worry over what would happen if Aunt Raven saw it. I had to get to school. I stripped quickly, happy to get out of the stiff, bloodied clothing. I hopped in the shower quickly, crinkling my nose against the assaulting smell of copper. The hot water stung my new cuts, but after a minute it felt good. 

I took a record fast shower, wrapping a towel around my waist I blow dried and straightened my hair, not as thoroughly as I would have liked, it would have to do. Glancing in the mirror I realized I was in a desperate need for a re-dye. My light brown hair was making a reappearance at my roots and the blue and purple streaks were so faded, the purple now looked pink. Not something I could fix right now, though I would go buy some dye today after school.

I put on my usual eyeliner. Today was definitely a long sleeve day. I rummaged through the mess of my room looking for an acceptable, unripped, shirt. I picked up a black zip up hoodie off the floor, figuring it would have to be good enough. Bracelets could not cover this one up. I found a fitted black shirt with bright green letters, spelling out Nightwish. Putting them both on gingerly over my sensitive gashes, I decided for my usual black, ripped skinny jeans. Grateful I had several pairs. 

I walked out of my room, pain stabbing at my chest. Aunt Raven had no idea of my inner and outer turmoil. Logically, I couldn't blame her, I was hiding it, the emotional part of me was angered and deeply  betrayed that she didn't have the slightest inkling that I had wreaked havoc throughout my body and room. I felt my eyes burn unexpectedly, before I turned away from the hallway that Aunt Raven's room was situated down, pushing down the emotions.

Walking down stairs, all five pills in hand, I padded lightly into our small kitchen. Going to the stainless steel fridge I pulled out a pitcher of water, pouring it into one of the many beer glasses Aunt Raven had throughout the house. She wasn't really a champagne or wine type of woman. I swallowed all five pills with one sip of water, which, if you didn't know, was quite difficult. Something I did easily from much practice of popping pill after prescribed pill over the years. We had tried almost every anti-depressant, mood stabilizer, anti-psychotic out there, none seemed to curb my symptoms.

Though, like every day, I took them anyway. Aunt Raven was my prescriber and although she was good at her job, I seemed to have her stumped. I'm not saying my medication didn't work, because it did, but only to an extent. Medication isn't a miracle fix, it doesn't "cure" you, and it most certainly doesn't make everything better. You are the only one that can make those things happen. It's a joint effort of therapy, medication and hard work, and most importantly, wanting to get better. If you don't want to get better, nothing will be effective.